When it Comes
by burnthiscityxx
Summary: Quinn could be unpredictable when it came to her career choices. She was known for taking risks and being the one wild card in Hollywood casting sessions. But when it came to men and crushes and most importantly, falling in love – Quinn Fabray was downright predictable.
1. Prologue

**And I'm back! I know I said I was going to focus on oneshots, but this idea popped up in my head and I just couldn't let it go. :P Now, if some of you have me on author alerts, then you'll know I've actually posted a prologue & first of chapter of When it Comes before. I went on vacation for 2 weeks after that and everything sort of flew out of my head, so this is me starting over.**

**If you managed to read the previously posted (now deleted) chapters, then you'll notice some similarities in the prologue and first chapter that will be posted up now, in addition to the overall premise of the fic. Hopefully, you'll get the chance to leave me a second review though. :)**

**As for the other, please read and enjoy! Don't forget to click that little button at the bottom - would love to hear some feedback and thoughts. :)**

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_**Prologue.**_

The sun rose high above the skyscrapers, casting a warm glow over the city and causing the thick, muggy air to bury itself into every possible crevice it could find. In the deserted parking lot of a well-known studio network, a petite figure leaned against the cool concrete of the building behind her, lifting her face to the sun. She tapped at her small phone expertly, sending a quick message, before braving the heat to cross the empty lot and settle comfortably into her car. With the air-conditioning on full blast, she tied her long blonde hair back into a comically high ponytail and sunk herself into the leather interior of her beloved car, a disgruntled sigh escaping her mouth.

"Sorry! Sorry I'm late!" the passenger door flung open and the car bounced slightly, as a pretty Asian girl with jet-black hair folded herself into the seat, her arms full of overstuffed files and pieces of loose paper. "I went to print out the contracts that Santana sent me and the printer decided to stop working when it had already printed out half of the Target deal," she exhaled, reaching to dump all the papers in the backseat. "I'm sorry. Were you waiting long?"

"Don't worry about it," the blonde girl shrugged with a smile, before revving the engine and pulling out of the parking space. They weaved in and out of cars with the expertise one could only get from living in Los Angeles for so long, before pulling onto the freeway and finding themselves in complete gridlock.

Tina, the girl in the passenger seat, pulled her feet out of her flip-flops and curled them underneath herself, getting her cell phone out at the same time. Tapping it expertly, she turned to face the girl in the driver seat. "So, do you want to know what's on the schedule next week?"

Quinn Fabray, who was staring intensely at the unmoving vehicle in front of her, blinked out of her short daze and turned to face her friend. "What I want to know is why there's freaking traffic at this hour on a Friday," she grumbled.

"It's 7 AM, Quinn. Everybody's either going to work or coming home from a night out,"

"Well, I'm coming _home_ from work and I just wanna lie down in my comfortable bed and sleep the next week away," she mumbled, letting a frustrated groan escape her mouth, before offering a half-hearted apology towards her friend. "I'm being bratty, I know,"

"It's okay, you worked through the night – if you weren't cranky, then we'd have some issues," Tina chuckled. "Speaking of next week, though…well, actually, you've got a full weekend too…"

"What? No break?" Quinn responded in mock horror, before a smile broke across her lips.

"Sorry, girlie. You've got the rest of today off, but you also have like, a million errands to run. There's a photo shoot lined up for tomorrow and you have that Alannah Hill launch event on Sunday night. Next week is your last week of filming and that wraps up the second season, but you've got promo almost every single night until next Saturday,"

"None of those are skippable?"

"I'm afraid not," Tina said apologetically. As Quinn's personal assistant, she knew it was necessary that Quinn go to all the events and keep up appearances. But as her best friend, Tina knew how tiring it had to be.

"Well, there goes my personal life. You know, I can't remember the last time I got a hike in," Quinn sighed, resting her elbow on the windowsill of her side of the car.

"Yeah, but…well, not to sound like a total bitch, but you did kind of ask for it,"

"I know, it's just…" Quinn paused, sucking in her lips before letting out a breath. "Tiring. It's tiring," she shrugged, reaching over the gearbox to fiddle with the radio. Unable to settle on a station, she plugged in her iPod and quickly, the soothing sound of Bon Iver's voice came through the speakers.

"Well, I could always ask Santana to set you up on one of those dates she's always offering,"

"Oh, please kill me before I ever agree to anything like that!" Quinn giggled. "I can't believe she's still throwing that out there,"

"To be fair, I've seen some of her clients and you could do a lot worse. You know she represents athletes, right?"

"Not interested," the blonde waved her hand dismissively, inching the car forward.

"Just a suggestion," Tina smiled, tilting her shoulder towards the window nonchalantly. "You never know..."

* * *

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes wearily, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and ambling down the staircase towards the kitchen. His stomach grumbled as the smell of freshly made pancakes wafted through the house, but an unusual sight caused him to stop dead in his tracks. Crowding around the kitchen island were his backup band members and a pretty, tall, brunette.

"Oh! Morning, sleepyhead!" she squealed, her voice crashing through his thoughts, as she set the spatula down and skipped across the room to fling her arms around him.

"Morning, Sammy. Have a fun night?" Noah Puckerman, the guitarist in the group and their resident bad boy, punched Sam in shoulder and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"_So_ much fun," the brunette answered for him.

Sam Evans' bright green eyes widened as he struggled to remember where the girl had come from, what her name was, and exactly what they did last night. "What are you guys doing here?" he gestured to the rest of his band, grabbing himself a cup of coffee.

"Mike texted us about a morning meeting," Rory Flanagan, the youngest and newest addition to the group, explained in his thick Irish accent. "Katie was here when we got here," he shrugged and Sam quickly made a mental note to thank Rory later.

"Don't worry about a thing, this is the last batch of pancakes and then I'm out of here, I promise," the brunette – Katie – dropped another pancake onto the griddle and placed a fresh plate on the counter. Her hair tumbled sexily out of a messy updo and when she stepped away from the kitchen island, Sam's breath hitched in his throat when he noticed she was wearing his white v-neck shirt.

_'Well, I guess I slept with her last night,'_ he thought, chuckling silently to himself.

Two hours later, after an awkward goodbye and one disorganized band meeting, Sam stretched back against his couch, his legs propped up on the coffee table in front of him and his fingers falling lazily over the acoustic guitar in his lap. Across the room, Mike Chang, his best friend and manager, was tapping away at his cell phone furiously. Every so often, a curse word would fall out of his mouth and Sam had to bite back from laughing at the intense, worried look on his friend's face. In Sam's opinion, Mike worked way too hard and was way too serious about everything.

"Not even 9 AM in the morning and I already have to do damage control," Mike muttered. "I swear, if we haven't been best friends since middle school, I would've let you answer all these messages yourself,"

"Oh, come on, what's the worst that they're going to say? That I'm dating Katie, so what? She's a model, after all," Sam raised his eyebrows knowingly.

"No, Sam, she's not a model. She's a waitress-slash-dancer at the club we went to last night…damn it, I knew I should've gone home with you!"

"No offense, but you're really not my type,"

Mike stopped typing on his phone and glared at Sam, his eyes growing narrower. "Look, if you want to sleep around, fine. I just don't get why you can't sleep around with people who are actually in your…you know, social circle," he gestured.

"What, like other celebrities?" Sam dropped his jaw in mock surprise. "Michael Chang, are you admitting to being a celebrity?"

"I am saying that you've had two number one albums, two sold out tours, and dude, you're kind of on top of the world right now, so I can see why you want to get around," Mike snorted. "But why don't you try the real thing for a change? You know, an actual relationship?"

"Because that worked out so well for you and Santana?" Sam shot back, his fingers tapping against his guitar. "You two dated and now that you've broken up, isn't it super awkward to work with each other now?"

"We don't work with each other, alright?" Mike ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "We just realized the only thing we had in common is trying to manage your ass," he chuckled.

"Look, I've tried the whole relationship thing. It was great, but it's like you said – I'm kind of on top of the world. Will you just let me enjoy it?"

"Well, if you ever need a date, I'm sure we can get Santana to set you up on one of those PR things," Mike shrugged, a laugh escaping his mouth when he saw Sam's reaction.

"Please kill me if I ever take you up on that offer,"

"You never know..."


	2. Chapter 1: Ruthless Publicity

**Hi guys! I know, I know, I know. I really have no real excuse as to why the first chapter took so long to get up after the prologue, but I wanted to make sure everything was right and I really had a lot of trouble trying to figure out where to leave it. Anyway, here it is!**

**Thanks so much for all your kind words and I hope you enjoy this! Please read and review! :) Xoxo.**

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**Chapter 1: Ruthless Publicity**

Four years ago, when she had first moved to the city, Quinn Fabray would have been absolutely terrified of driving in Los Angeles. But then again, she certainly didn't have the same life four years ago. It had started with moving to San Francisco for college, where she had also decided to join the drama club. Once she found her place as a thespian, Quinn was quickly signed with a talent agency and suddenly, she was shuffling between San Francisco and Los Angeles at least once a week for auditions, commercials, and guest roles. It was only when she turned 20 years old that she landed her big break – the role of a privileged, innocent, virginal character on an already famous TV show about feuding families with dark secrets. Since then, it was goodbye San Francisco and hello, Hollywood.

Everything had fallen into place almost magically, almost fatefully, and she had never questioned it – she never did. Instead, Tina was the one who constantly reminded her of how lucky she was to be working in the business. Not as a struggling actor, but just as someone who had a stable job. And having a stable job in Hollywood meant learning how to become a true LA girl – from battling gridlock traffic to driving just insanely enough to not get caught.

And it was on a perfectly clear, bright Californian morning that Quinn decided to pay her good friend – and ruthless publicist – a visit. Parking her car with ease, she rode up the elevator and headed straight for the glass-walled office in the back.

"Morning," she chirped, holding out a latte in a to-go cup. Santana Lopez, a fiery, beautiful Latina, held up a finger to Quinn to shush her and grabbed the coffee, cradling a phone in the crook of her shoulder. She took a large sip, smiled satisfyingly, and put it back down.

"No, I told you to retract that statement. There's no way a credible source could have told you anything, because as far as I'm concerned, my client is training for next season – and unless you've got a name, which I could also probably dismiss, I suggest you take that stupid little article out of your trashy magazine or else there will be consequences," Santana snapped at the person on the other line, before slamming the phone back down. "Good morning," she smiled, turning to face the blonde girl perched on the edge of the sophisticated leather couch.

"I've seen you do this for three years and it still scares me," Quinn laughed.

"Well, that's what they pay me for," Santana joked. "What's up?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about a couple upcoming projects. Tina said I had to run them by you so we don't mess up the scheduling,"

"Sure,"

"There's this movie I want to do. It's a small part in an indie flick, but I don't know about the timing of everything, like if the promo tour is going to interfere with filming," Quinn shrugged. Santana frowned, reaching across the table for her BlackBerry, her fingers typing away furiously.

"Send me the details and I'll see what I can find out," she muttered. "Is that it?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch together. I'm bored," Quinn whined. After a stressful week of going on talk shows and premieres, not to mention shooting the show well into the night, Quinn was exhausted. But in true, workaholic fashion, she had taken two days off before complaining that she had nothing else to occupy her time with.

"Sorry, Q. I've got a lunch meeting with a client," Santana shrugged. "Rain check?"

"Yeah, sure," Quinn sighed.

"Aw, is little miss Hollywood bored of the good life?" the Latina teased.

"Well…kind of. Tina's in summer school and all my other friends are off in Cabo or Hawaii or something,"

"So go to Cabo or Hawaii or something,"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "As if. You know I hate traveling alone,"

"If you want, I've got something you could do tonight," Santana offered, laughing when Quinn immediately straightened at the proposition. "Do you know who Sugar Motta is?"

"As much as I don't want to admit it, I do," she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Her dad's super rich and she was on a reality show, right? I saw her featured on E! once," she shrugged offhandedly, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "Isn't she super bratty and spoiled?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. Her daddy throws her all this money and she's incredibly entitled, but unfortunately, she's got a sweet side, so you can't help but feel sorry for her. She just doesn't know any better," Santana grumbled. "Anyway, I just signed her – or rather, she was _assigned_ to me – and she just booked the role in a Lifetime movie that shoots in town,"

"So you want me to babysit her?" Quinn snorted.

"I want you to come out with us tonight. Elixir is launching and the company's sponsoring, so I've got a VIP table. If she gets photographed with you or any other legit celebrities, maybe she'll be taken more seriously," Santana shrugged.

"That's ruthless,"

"That's publicity," she corrected, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder with pride. "So, will you come? I'll invite Tina and Kurt and Blaine, so it won't be a total snooze fest," she rolled her eyes.

"Alright, count me in," Quinn sighed, getting up from her seat. Crossing the room, she gave her friend a quick hug. "It's not like I have anything better to do tonight anyway,"

Santana laughed, shaking her head as Quinn headed out the door. "You're like, the worst TV star ever."

Several minutes later, Quinn walked down the hallway towards the elevators with a slight bounce in her step. She hadn't been kidding when she said she was bored – shopping and going out for lunches with her friends were fun, but when it was coupled with trying to dodge the constant paparazzi, it got a little old. As she brought her unfinished latte up to her lips, Quinn's mind was already in her ever-growing wardrobe, figuring out what to wear for the night out. With Santana, it had to be something eye-catching and fashionable, so Quinn made a mental note to call her stylist. Head lost in her to-do list, she turned a corner, her coffee cup still resting on her lips, and that was when she felt it. A firm, lean body slammed into hers and she staggered back, just surprised enough that her latte sloshed out of its little container and splashed all over her white blouse.

"Crap!" she squealed, the lukewarm liquid soaking through her shirt. She dabbed at the stain with just her hand, when she heard chuckling from the man who had slammed into her. Snapping her head back up to meet his, Quinn narrowed her eyes. He was tall, muscular, and incredibly good-looking, but his big lips curled into a carefree smirk that made her feel like she was being mocked. "Thanks a lot, by the way," she spat.

"Hey, maybe you just need to watch where you're going," he shrugged, running a hand through his short, blond hair. His voice was familiar and Quinn frowned, trying to remember where she had heard him before. "Coffee's a good look on you," he chuckled.

"I'll keep that in mind," Quinn rolled her eyes, unfazed by his smooth demeanor.

"You're Quinn, right? Quinn Fabray?" he asked, offering his hand. Her eyes widened at the sudden softness in his voice and she forced back a scoff. She knew guys like him too well. They were either living off of their parents' money or they were so desperate to break into the business that they'd charm and sleep with every celebrity they could find. She had had experience with both kinds and maybe it was because she was so focused on work, but Quinn had given up on trying to find something that even resembled true love in Hollywood – everybody was too superficial and headstrong anyway.

"And you are?" she tossed her hair over her shoulder effortlessly, refusing his handshake.

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief and he pulled his hand back, stuffing it into his jeans pocket. "Seriously?"

_'Oh, wonderful. He's an arrogant one, too,'_ Quinn thought, sighing in frustration. "Am I supposed to know who you are or something?"

"Yeah, you are," he spoke confidently and surely, his head held high. She noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes, a fleck of gold glinting amidst the bright green and she frowned, suddenly unable to get a read off of him. "I'll see you around, Quinn Fabray," he nodded his head at her, his voice a soft, sultry whisper, before walking right past her, leaving Quinn completely and utterly dumbfounded.

* * *

Sam loped into Santana's office with ease, flinging his body onto the leather couch and sinking back comfortably. Propping his feet up onto the glass coffee table, he grabbed a piece of gum out of his pocket and chewed it loudly, until he saw Santana's eyes glare at him from across the room. He was, by no means, an obnoxious artist. But when a record contract falls into your lap at the mere age of 18, there was a certain thick skin that had to be built in order to stay out of the bad tabloid headlines. Which was exactly where Santana Lopez, LA's most notorious publicist, came into the picture. She, along with Mike, had helped build Sam into Sam Evans – world famous solo artist.

"Can you please stop snapping your gum?" Santana rubbed at her forehead tiredly.

"What's got you so wired?" Sam asked, rolling the gum around his tongue.

"Nothing, it's just…my other clients,"

"Oh, I thought maybe Mike called you about the Katie thing,"

Santana's head snapped up, her eyes wide with confusion. "What Katie thing? Is she writing a tell-all? Sam Evans, if you knocked some poor girl up…"

"Calm down!" he held up his hands, laughing at the panicked look on his publicist's face. Her fingers were already clenched tightly around her phone, ready to attack at any minute. "It was nothing, the cameras just caught her leaving my house a few weeks back, that's all,"

"But that happens all the time. No offense, but you get around," Santana joked.

"Mean," he smirked, pointing a finger in her direction. "I don't know, apparently Mike thinks I need to settle down, try a real relationship. Which is ridiculous, because we live in Hollywood," he grumbled.

"Speaking of Hollywood, do you know who Sugar Motta is?" Santana asked, clasping her hands together and chuckling lightly when Sam shook his head in response. "Reality star. She booked a gig out here in LA and doesn't know anybody, but she's on my roster, so…any chance you can swing by the Elixir launch tonight?" she said, her voice sweet and pleading.

"You want me to hit on a reality star? Like Snooki?" he winced.

"Oh, come on, Sammy, you've hit on worse!" Santana cried. "Please? I just need to raise her street cred a little. You can bring the boys, if you want," she waved her hand dismissively.

"Alright, fine," he relented, his fingers tapping at the worn leather. "You know, I've done you so many favors for your clients, but I don't actually know your entire roster. I'm starting to think you're hiding something from me, Lopez," he teased.

Santana glared at him, a smirk curling her lips. "Oh, please. For some unknown reason, you've sworn off celebrities,"

"Actually, speaking of celebrities, I ran into Quinn Fabray just now," he said conversationally, pausing as he relished the way her name fell easily off his lips. "Can you believe she didn't know who I was?"

"Of course she doesn't, Sam," the Latina giggled, rounding her desk to sit on the chairs across from him. "Quinn's not exactly Top 40. Or country, for that matter. She's more…alternative. Bon Iver, The Neigbourhood, Coldplay, that sort of thing,"

"Well, I listen to that stuff, too. You should tell her that just because you only listen to one type of music doesn't mean you should be ignorant to other types," he said defensively, getting up and making his way towards the door.

"Aw, did she bruise your ego?" Santana laughed, walking back to sit behind her desk as Sam nonchalantly flipped her off and walked out of the office.

* * *

Several hours later, Tina and Quinn stood outside of Elixir, the raucous noise from inside getting louder and louder by the minute. They could feel the bass thump in time with their heartbeat and since they came late – fashionably, of course – there was already a steady stream of partiers flowing in and out of the club. Quinn, dressed in a short, black mini dress, fiddled with her bracelets and squinted, trying to find Santana, Kurt, and Blaine in the midst of the crowd.

"Oh, there they are!" Tina nudged Quinn with her shoulder and waved at them, jumping up and down. Kurt Hummel, the ever so stylish fashion designer of the group, kissed the girls on both cheeks and clasped his hands together, a smile stretched across his lips.

"You look fabulous. Both of you," he noted, glancing from Tina and Quinn. Grabbing his boyfriend's hand, they headed inside the club, leaving behind Santana, who was busy rolling her eyes.

"He had two glasses of champagne, so he's sort of shot right now," she muttered, pulling both Quinn and Tina inside. The club was packed with wall-to-wall dancers and Quinn inhaled the sweet, intoxicating smoke from the machines, squeezing her way in between clubbers to keep up with Santana, who had somehow managed to part the crowd like the Red Sea. "Here we are!" the Latina announced, with a flourish of her hands. True to her word, Santana had managed to score the VIP area. The small, secluded alcove on the second level of the club was significantly quieter and offered a birds-eye view of the floor below them.

Santana turned back towards Tina and Quinn, her fingers clenched around three shot glasses and a mischivieous glint in her eyes. "Shots, now," she demanded, handing one to each girl. Quinn looked at it hesitantly, before clinking glasses and pounding it back. The liquid made her throat burn and she was a little dizzy, but as it started to warm her up, Quinn's lips curled into an easy smile.

"So, where's Sugar? I thought we were supposed to meet her tonight?" Tina asked, rolling the shot glass against her lips to taste the salt.

"She's – "

"Here!" a high-pitched squeal came from behind Santana and she turned around to reveal a pretty, petite girl with wide eyes and light brown hair. She was bouncing up and down with excitement, her hair pushed back from her face with a glittering headband. Quinn coughed, holding back a laugh, as she noticed the headband had her name written across it – Sugar. "I am so glad to meet you guys! LA is super scary when you don't know anybody, but Santana was totally nice, setting this whole thing up!" she cried with such enthusiasm in her voice that it made Quinn, Santana, and Tina shrink back against the metal railing in fear.

"Um, yeah," Tina snorted, trying to stifle a laugh.

"Sugar, remember what we talked about? Inside voice, sweetie. There's no need to yell like you're at a rodeo," Santana advised, placing a comforting hand on her client's shoulder. "Now, why don't you talk to Quinn and Tina for a while? I'm going to…go over there," Santana shrugged, shooting her friends an apologetic look, before scurrying away.

"Oh my god, she is _such_ a drag sometimes!" Sugar rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, before casually throwing an arm over Quinn and Tina's shoulders. For someone so tiny, she definitely had a lot of strength. "By the way, I _totally love_ your show, Quinn! I mean, I could never act the way you do, because that would've never gotten me any screen time, but you do virginal _so well_!" she screeched loudly, throwing her head back in laughter.

"What the hell?" Tina mouthed over the reality star's head to her friend and Quinn bit back a laugh – Sugar was so quintessentially Hollywood that it was hard to take her seriously. Suddenly, she understood why Santana was so desperate for all of them to hang out together.

"Um, Sugar, why don't we go and sit?" Quinn suggested, guiding them towards the plush couches. Settling down, Quinn poured out another round of drinks and offered one to Sugar, who shook her head vigorously.

"I only drink Cosmos," she informed them seriously, causing Tina to roll her eyes at the small girl. "So, I was thinking, we should _totally _get together for fro-yo one day, you know? We could…" Sugar's sentence was cut off abruptly when she started shrieking and flapping her hands up and down wildly. Quinn's eyes widened at the sudden onset of emotion and she cringed, hoping desperately that no cameras were around.

_ 'She's nuts! She's absolutely crazy!'_ Quinn thought to herself.

Following Sugar's line of vision to see what had gotten her so worked up, Quinn found herself staring at a familiar figure – a taut, muscular torso that was unfairly covered up by a white V-neck, underneath a suit jacket. Sucking in her breath, she let her eyes travel upwards, exhaling slowly as she noticed those same, mesmerizing green eyes – it was the man from Santana's office earlier that day.

"Sam Evans! Oh my god, you're Sam _Evans_!" Sugar's high-pitched voice cut through Quinn's thoughts and the blonde was shoved back, as the petite reality star launched herself towards him. "I love your music! Your new album like, totally described my life, you know?" she cried, hugging his bicep tightly.

Sam's green eyes widened at the sudden interruption, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Um, I guess you're Sugar Motta," he chuckled, looking down at the girl attached to him. "Santana sent me," he shrugged. Slowly, but painfully so, his eyes dragged across the room and reached Quinn, who was examining him closely, her right eyebrow quirked. _  
_

"Don't you know who this is?" Sugar shrieked, turning towards Quinn and Tina, her arms flailing wildly.

"Sam, I think?" Tina chuckled, holding out her hand for him to shake. "I'm Tina and this is…" she pulled her hand back to gesture towards Quinn, who was glaring up at him, her lips pursed into a thin line.

"Oh, we've met," Sam grinned.


	3. Chapter 2: Starry Eyed Surprise

**Oh, don't hate me. Please don't hate me. I know this chapter comes so incredibly late and just...yes. I'm sorry! But I went on vacation and I've been job-searching and my life's been crazy, but I did it! I don't know why this chapter took forever to write and to be honest, I did kind of abandon this fic for a bit, but luckily, inspiration has struck and here it is! :)**

**This takes place several days after Sam and Quinn met again at the club - I didn't include the rest of that night just because I thought it'd be kind of boring. But anyway, please do read and enjoy and please review!**

**And again, please don't hate me. :P**

**Xoxo.**

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**Chapter 2: Starry-Eyed Surprise**

"Alright, see, _this_ is Sam Evans," Tina pointed upwards with her index finger, gesturing towards the speakers, as she sat across from Quinn in the nearest coffee shop they could find. Outside, a crowd of paparazzi was beginning to form, but both girls stayed completely oblivious to the mayhem.

"What, this song?" Quinn quirked an eyebrow, tapping her pen against her bottom lip, which puffed out in thought. "I've heard this on the radio a couple of times, I guess,"

"Of course you have!" Tina scoffed. "He's only like, the biggest country crossover male artist – it's impossible not to hear his songs,"

Quinn set her pen down and glared at Tina from across the table. Inhaling deeply, she took a long sip of her icy coffee drink and pushed her blonde hair off her shoulders. "It's not like he's a god, Tee. He's just a musician,"

"A very cute musician. Who's into you," the Asian girl added as an afterthought.

It was several days after Quinn and Sam had run into each other at the launch of Elixir. It also hadn't taken long to figure out that Sam was also Santana's client and was clearly asked to show up so he could flirt with Sugar. _'Which is fine, it's not as if I was interested anyway,' _Quinn thought to herself. It just disgusted her that someone could be that easy to control and to manipulate – that all Santana had to do was snap her fingers and Sam would be perfectly okay with trying to get into Sugar's pants.

"He's merely a nuisance," Quinn replied in her haughtiest tone of voice. Passing over the rest of the contracts to Tina, she leaned back in her chair and started tapping her fingers to the beat of a new song that played through the speakers. "I like this song, though. What is it?"

"That would also be Sam Evans. Featuring Harmony," Tina chuckled, as she saw a flash of annoyance cross her friend's face. "You know, you and Sam were kind of hitting it off when we were at Elixir,"

"Are you blind?" Quinn snorted, tossing her hair over her shoulder flippantly. "We didn't hit it off. He was busy sucking face with Sugar, remember?"

"I remember, but I meant before that. He was totally giving you the eye,"

"Yeah, the evil eye,"

"I'm serious, Q. Even Santana saw it and she said it was cute," Tina pointed out. "Maybe she'll hook you guys up,"

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my best friend?" Quinn laughed. "First of all, I can get my own dates, thank you very much. Second of all, Sam and I are not friends or flirting or any of that. He's frustrating, he's clearly spoiled, and he's a total player. You saw the way he was around Sugar, right? All charming and modest, as if he's not a complete jerk who just relies on his good looks and apparent talent to get by," she ranted, sucking in a deep breath. "Completely and totally affected by fame,"

"I don't disagree with you, but people in this business are all affected by fame. Even you," Tina added, gesturing towards the crowd of paparazzi that were outside the glass doors. "I'm just saying, maybe Sam's a little different than you think. If you gave him a chance,"

"I highly doubt it,"

"Hello, girls," a familiar, Southern drawl crept up on Quinn and interjected their conversation. She felt his presence even before she could turn around to see his face. "Tina, Quinn,"

"Hey, Sam," Tina waved happily, her eyes crinkling as she smiled widely. Quinn narrowed her eyes at her friend – clearly, Tina was having way too much fun.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn spat, crossing her arms.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" Sam chuckled. "It's a Starbucks, everybody's allowed to come here," he pointed out. Quinn rolled her eyes and finally took a good look at him – his muscles still defined underneath a plaid button up, his face half-hidden by an ill-fitting baseball cap. "Did you girls have fun the other night?"

"Not as much fun as you did, apparently," Quinn smirked, feeling triumphant when she saw a flicker of shock in Sam's eyes. "How is Sugar?" she smiled.

"She's great. We had a lot of fun,"

"I'm sure you did,"

"Do I detect a little bit of jealousy?" Sam raised his eyebrows, playfully smirking.

"Oh, please!" Quinn rolled her eyes. "That would imply that I'd actually _care_,"

"Seems to me like you do," he grinned, his green eyes boring straight into Quinn's hazel ones. An intense silence fell between them and Quinn briefly wondered which part of her was stronger – the part which wanted to kiss Sam or the part which wanted to strangle him for being so cocky.

"Um, so, Sam, are you working on anything new right now?" Tina's soft voice cut through the tension and Quinn blinked herself out of her reverie, sighing and leaning back against the sofa.

"I'm recording, but nothing's set in stone," Sam answered, his gaze still locked on Quinn's. Tina cleared her throat again and he finally tore his eyes away, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. "Anyway, I better get going. I'll see you girls around," he nodded his head at both of them, before heading straight towards the counter to order his drink, leaving the girls in a comfortable silence. As Quinn went back to signing the rest of her contracts, Tina couldn't help but notice a flicker between the two celebrities.

She may have only been a struggling college student and part-time assistant to a big-time celebrity, but Tina Cohen-Chang wasn't stupid. Attraction was attraction, even hidden underneath a thin layer of anger and irritation, and it was obvious that Quinn and Sam had some sort of connection. Sam was cocky and arrogant, but Quinn was defensive and uptight – in Tina's opinion, they were both just incredibly stubborn and too set in their ways. Still, she couldn't help the plan that was already starting to form in her head. If Quinn had sworn off finding love in Hollywood, there had to be something – or someone – that could change her mind.

* * *

"We should get a dog,"

Sam lazily turned his head sideways to face Finn, who was sitting cross-legged on the lounge chair. It was a sunny afternoon and they had just finished a long session in the recording studio, so Puck had suggested a lively game of basketball to get some fresh air. After realizing it was far too hot for any sort of strenuous exercise, the boys had given up and all jumped into the pool instead.

"Why do we need a dog?" Sam asked tiredly.

"Why not?" Finn shrugged. "The guys on _Entourage_ got one and that was pretty cool,"

"The boys on Entourage also got broke," Mike chimed in with a scoff, his Blackberry pinging every few seconds. "You guys can barely take care of the house, what makes you think you can take care of a dog?"

"For your information, only two of us live in this house," Finn shot back defensively, gesturing towards Sam and Puck.

"Oh, that's right, you're living at Rachel's," the Asian snickered, high-fiving Puck, who had long abandoned his dumbbells in the corner of the deck to join in on the conversation.

"_With _Rachel," Finn glowered. "It's not my fault she's on Broadway half the time,"

Sam chuckled, easing himself up on his elbows and pushing his Ray-Bans up onto his head. "Alright, stop pouting, Hudson. Mike's just being uptight, that's all. If I want a dog, I'll get a dog," he shrugged, as if that was the end of the conversation.

"Excuse me? I'm being uptight?" Mike raised his eyebrows, a smirk crossing his lips. "Sam, if I remember correctly, you killed your goldfish _two hours_ after you got it,"

"I was 12!" Sam protested. "Man, you have got to loosen up!" shaking his head, he pushed his sunglasses back down and leaned back, effectively ending their discussion. The group stayed silent for a while, until they heard Puck dive back into the water and start a random wrestling match with Rory – who was clearly defeated from the beginning.

"All I'm saying is that you guys wouldn't know how to take care of a dog. Puck can barely take care of himself," Mike snorted.

"Can we talk about something else?" Sam asked tiredly, watching Finn clumsily dive into the pool. Turning his head to face Mike,

he lowered his sunglasses back down onto his cheeks.

"How about Elixir the other night? I never did quite get the full report," Mike snickered, situating himself on the deck chair next to Sam.

"There wasn't much to tell,"

"Ah, yes, but the paparazzi pictures tell another story," Mike twirled his BlackBerry in his hand, tossing it up and catching it again. "Sugar was all over you, wasn't she?"

"Not to sound like a complete jerk, but who wouldn't be?" Sam joked, gesturing towards his shirtless torso. With a nonchalant shrug, he added, "It was nothing, Mike. I just made sure she got in her cab – you didn't see how many drinks she had,"

"Well, that must have been fun," the Asian chuckled. "Speaking of fun, you and Quinn Fabray know each other, huh?"

"Know each other, ran into each other…is there a difference?"

"Ah, so she's the girl you ran into at Santana's office the other day?"

"She's the one," Sam shrugged, reaching over to take a long pull from his beer bottle. The liquid ran down his throat quickly and he sighed, relishing the way the cold bottle felt in his hands. It was unnaturally hot for Los Angeles and he was breaking a sweat from just lying down.

"And you guys just happened to come out of the club together?"

"It was the end of the night and Santana brought all of us out together. Ask Rory or Finn, they were there too. We were in a group,"

"There's chemistry there," Mike commented flippantly and Sam whipped his head around to face him, an incredulous look etched across his face.

"What?"

"You and Quinn. Chemistry. A connection," Mike enunciated, smirking at the way Sam had immediately gotten flustered the second Quinn's name was mentioned.

"I think you missed the part where the woman hates me,"

"Can you blame her?" Mike ducked, as Sam threw a lounge pillow at his head. "I'm just saying, the way you guys said hi to each other and the looks you were giving each other…it added up,"

"First of all, nobody can judge chemistry based on a greeting," Sam ticked off, his tone matter-of-fact. "Second of all, she was _glaring_ at me. I just find it highly amusing,"

"How do you find it funny that Quinn Fabray hates your guts?"

"Because she's so…high-strung about it," Sam shrugged, sliding his sunglasses back on and turning his face upwards to the sun. "It's cute. Not in that way, but…it's cute," he amended. Mike rolled his eyes and shook his head, lowering his head back down to read another email that had been sent to his phone and the boys stayed silent for a while. Sam's thoughts immediately switched focus to the rest of the day – after all, he was never the one to linger on awkward relationships. In the background, the rest of their group splashed around in the water and in the distance, Sam heard the next-door neighbor's stereo blasting. By all accounts, it was a peaceful and relaxing, albeit hot, day. He was looking forward to heading back to the studio later on in the night, but until then, living the celebrity life in Hollywood seemed like a pretty good deal to him.

"New Google alert!" Artie cried out suddenly, wheeling his way over to the lounge chairs. His announcement caused Sam to sit back up and Mike reached out, snatching Artie's phone from his hands. "Hey!"

"Manager tops record producer," he replied, eyes already scanning the article. Several years ago, when Sam finally got his first taste of success, Santana had made everybody in his entourage put his name on his or her Google alerts. So whenever news broke, they would always be the first to know. Half the time, the stories would be plain, ridiculous rumors – stories that no one would bother commenting on, but were worth a good laugh.

"Anything good? Is he an alien? I've always liked that one," Rory chuckled, his arms hanging off the side of the pool.

"I like the one where he's dead. And then his grandma calls, totally freaking out," Puck joked, running a hand over his wet Mohawk.

"Actually…it might be worse, depending on how you look at it," Mike said softly.

"Worse than me being dead? Did I come back to life in a really awesome way?" Sam grabbed the phone from Mike's hand and scanned the article quickly. His eyes grew wider and wider with each passing second and as he reached the last sentence, his grip on the phone had become so tight, his knuckles were turning white.

"I'm dating Quinn Fabray?!"

* * *

The sun was setting over the picturesque view of the Los Angeles skyline and from inside Santana's office, Quinn moved her feet gracefully across the carpeted floor, performing a small combo to the soft sounds of jazz that drifted through the office. Tina was dangling her legs across the arm of the leather couch, a highlighter in her hand and a business textbook open on her lap. Behind the large office table, Santana sat, her legs crossed delicately, as she gave her wine glass a swirl before lifting it to her lips. They had made plans earlier to go to dinner and despite it being a Saturday night, Santana had had to work all day. So instead, Quinn and Tina surprised her at the office with takeout from their most favorite restaurants and they pigged out on everything from mini pizzas to artfully wrapped sushi rolls.

"So, I looked up that movie you wanted to do, Quinn," Santana said conversationally, popping a strawberry into her mouth.

"Business talk on a Saturday night? Really?" Quinn asked, whipping her head around to face Santana with a mocking smile across her lips. "Can we just…forget about shop talk for the moment?"

"The movie is being shot in Hawaii. Two weeks from now. Meaning we need to figure out if you want that audition or if you just want to pass it up,"

"What do you think? Of course I want the audition!" Quinn cried, dropping to the ground and folding her legs underneath her, the billowy skirt she wore fanning out around her.

"Can I butt in?" Tina intercepted, pushing her reading glasses up onto her head. Santana nodded, sighing softly. "I've read the script. And…it's not great,"

"What?"

"It's not great. It's cheesy and predictable and sounds like a straight to DVD, if you ask me," Tina shrugged, waiting another beat before placing her glasses back on her nose and going back to her textbook.

"You don't like the script? But…it shoots in Hawaii!" Quinn pointed out incredulously.

"Actually, I've read it and Tina's right – it sucks," Santana chimed in, which caused Quinn to snap her head back around to the Latina.

"Since when do publicists read scripts?"

"Since the movie shoots in Hawaii," Santana chuckled. "Look, to be totally honest, it sounds like a B-grade flick. It's like if I Know What You Did Last Summer and Clueless got mashed up," she shrugged.

"But…it's Hawaii," Quinn pouted.

"And you can go to Hawaii some other time. When you don't have to be working on a crappy film," Santana said, her tone final. Waving her hand in the air dismissively, she added, "Plus, the filming times don't fit with the show's schedule,"

Quinn frowned, processing all the information, before heaving a big sigh and relenting. "Alright, fine. It would've been nice to get out of LA for a while, though. Things have been crazier than usual,"

"She's talking about her suddenly recurring run-ins with a certain Sam Evans," Tina quipped, which earned an immediate gasp from Quinn.

"Excuse _you_! Aren't you supposed to be studying for something?"

Santana burst into laughter, her brown eyes twinkling with glee as she nodded across the room to Tina. "Is our little miss Hollywood falling under the charm of a musician?"

"What charm?" Quinn snorted. "He's – "

"Arrogant, cocky, frustrating, spoiled, a player, and completely affected by fame?" Tina offered, dodging the piece of chicken Quinn threw at her head.

"Remind me to dock your pay this month,"

"Alright, level with me here. Santana, you saw chemistry, right? Between Quinn and Sam?"

"He was busy with Sugar!" the blonde crossed her arms defensively.

"Sam knows how to work the girls, let me tell you," Santana smiled. "But like it or not, both of you have more in common than you think,"

Quinn rolled her eyes, getting up off the floor and crossing the room towards the iPod speakers, her fingers quickly flitting through her music library. "Oh please,"

"You're both stubborn and hard-headed. And for some odd reason, you're both incredibly opposed to dating other celebrities," Santana pointed out. Tina nodded her head in agreement and both girls stared at Quinn, who was biting her lip and shaking her head, an amused look etched across her face.

"Well, both of _you_ are unbelievable," she giggled, turning up the volume and smiling, as the loud music came through the speakers and effectively ended the conversation. Tina shook her head in disbelief and went back to studying her business textbook, while Santana leaned back in her office chair and classily chugged the rest of her wine, with one eye on her BlackBerry. A minute into the song, Quinn noticed Santana motioning for her to turn off the music and when she did, the silence that fell around the office felt eerie and out of place.

"What's up?"

"I have a voicemail," Santana shrugged, pressing the small device to her ear. Quinn and Tina watched as the Latina's eyes grew wider and wider, her lips curling into a smirk as she tried to hide her laughter.

"Is it someone prank calling you? I get those all the time," Quinn remarked, shaking her blonde hair out of her high ponytail, causing it to tumble over her shoulders.

"Actually…not quite," Santana bit her lip, twirling the BlackBerry in her hands. "That was Sam Evans – you know, your new buddy?" she teased.

"How many times have I told you? He's _not _my buddy! He's not a friend, he's barely an acquaintance and I just…"

Santana held up her hand, effectively stopping Quinn mid-sentence. "You're right, he's not a friend. Because according to a Google alert and several online tabloids…Sam Evans is your boyfriend,"


	4. Chapter 3: The Deal

**Hi everybody! I know, it's been ages since I last updated, but inspiration struck and thus, chapter 3 was born. :P  
**

**Thanks so much for all your reviews and favorites (I'm still figuring out this new FF...is a follower the same thing as putting an author on alerts? Lol)! Let me know what you think about this chapter and I hope I've done Sam and Quinn justice! Next chapter will be a little bit juicier, this is just laying the groundwork for everything.**

**Regardless, enjoy reading and please review! :) Xoxo.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Deal**

Quinn revved the engine, watching the speedometer rise slowly as the scenery around her turned into blurry visions. In the passenger seat, Tina sat, a worried look on her face as she clenched her fists, willing her best friend to slow the car down. Quinn had always been a reckless driver – back in their hometown of Lima, Ohio, she had been notorious for racking up the most tickets out of their entire class. Still, no matter how many times Tina got into a car with her, she was always surprised at just how reckless Quinn could be.

Like right now.

Right now, she was traveling at twice the speed limit, hurtling the car left and right as she weaved through traffic. They reached the house in record time and as Quinn slammed on the brakes, she felt herself lurch forward, before banging backwards into the soft leather interior. Casting a sidelong glance at Tina, she noticed her best friend squeezing her eyes shut in fear.

"Oh, lighten up," Quinn rolled her eyes, unbuckling her seatbelt. Reckless as she was, she was always cautious about her safety. Was it a crime that she liked to drive fast? "You're in one piece,"

"You're going to be the death of me," Tina grumbled, snapping out of her seatbelt. "One of these days, I'm going to get in the car and I'll never come out because I'll be _dead_," she snapped, unfolding herself out of the vehicle and slamming the door shut. It was late, around one in the morning, and they had just returned from Santana's office. Tina stifled her laugh, remembering the look on Quinn's face when she heard about the newest rumor that had hit the Internet – the one about her and Sam Evans officially dating. It was cruel irony, Tina knew that, but she had to applaud whoever planted the story (she assumed it was Santana, but the Latina had insisted she had nothing to do with it) – it was genius.

From a publicity standpoint, it made sense. Quinn Fabray was on hiatus from her show and Sam Evans was just recording – neither was in the public eye for much, other than the occasional event or daily paparazzi shots. They were young, single, and blessed with the Hollywood 'it' factor. It was a publicist's dream and Santana couldn't have been happier. Of course, that was until Quinn started ranting about the unfairness of it all, how she could never stage a romance for popularity, and so on. Tina loved Quinn like a sister, but sometimes…well, sometimes she was just plain crazy.

"You're being overdramatic," Quinn replied, locking her car.

"Says the actor,"

"It's just been…" her sentence trailed off and she stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide with surprise and disbelief. "Sam?" Quinn croaked, her tongue suddenly feeling like sandpaper in her mouth. She squinted to get a better look through the darkness, but there was no need – the outline of his body was familiar enough for Quinn to take several tentative steps forward. He was sitting on her front steps, his elbows resting on his knees, as he twirled his phone between his fingers.

"We need to talk," he stood up, occupying most of the doorframe and Quinn just nodded, too dumbstruck to argue. Pushing past him, she unlocked the front door and stepped inside, shaking her head as Tina breezed past her with a quick goodnight kiss on the cheek and a warning to be careful.

"Um, sorry it's a mess," Quinn shrugged, leading him towards the spacious kitchen. She suddenly felt awkward and vulnerable, as if having Sam in her environment was throwing everything out of whack. Deciding to keep busy, she crossed the room to grab two bottles of water and tossed one in his direction.

"Thanks," he caught the bottle deftly and took a large gulp, before setting it back down on the kitchen island. Unsure of what to say or do next, Quinn took her place at one of the high chairs and he mirrored her, sitting across from one another and staying completely silent.

"So…I just came back from Santana's," she said conversationally, her hazel eyes averted from his unwavering gaze.

"I'm guessing you've heard what they're saying?"

"The rumor? Santana told me you called her,"

"It's ridiculous. We got photographed _once_ together and we're suddenly dating? There were like, six other people with us! Where were their photographs?" Sam grumbled, peeling the label off his water bottle. Quinn sighed, placing her hands on her lap.

"You know how it works. We were with our managers, our publicists, our friends – not other celebrities," she winced at her own words, hating how superficial it all sounded. "It's not like you've never been paired with another celebrity before. Surely this can't be your first dating scandal,"

"I don't date celebrities," Sam shot back, his mouth set in a firm line. "Especially actors," he added, just under his breath. But one look at Quinn's wide eyes told him that she had definitely heard what he had said.

As far as she was concerned, she didn't want to be paired with him in the tabloids either, but did he have to sound so…bothered by it? "Of course not. You date random bartenders or strippers. You date whomever Santana tells you to date. Well, sorry to burst your bubble, _Samuel_," she pushed herself off her chair and crossed her arms, scowling. "I didn't want to date _you_ either,"

"Look, it's not like I don't think you're attractive…"

"Oh, shut up," Quinn rolled her eyes. "Is this what you came over here for? To tell me that you don't want to date me because I'm an actor? Well great, I got the message. So you can leave now," she tapped her foot impatiently.

Sam winced at her biting tone. Maybe it was because it was late at night or maybe it was because he had had a tiring day dodging paparazzi and reporters that camped outside his house, but he knew he was acting like a jerk. It wasn't that he _never_ dated celebrities or socialites – it was just that he found them more trouble than they were worth. Santana used to joke that if Sam dated another famous person; there would be no room for his already growing ego. Over time, he came to the realization that even though it didn't say much for his character, it was true.

"I just think…" Sam started again, trying to reason with her. But all it took was one look at her determined gaze for him to know that Quinn Fabray wasn't somebody you could easily argue with. Almost as if she was reading his mind, Quinn held up her hand to interrupt him.

"Look, we'll call Santana tomorrow morning and tell her to pull the story," she relented, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. "She knows everybody at all the tabloids and I'm sure she can work her magic,"

"And if not?"

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," Quinn replied primly, with a flip of her hair. Glancing quickly at her kitchen clock, she turned back to face Sam, lacing her fingers together in front of her. "In any case, it's late. I appreciate you coming over, even if you did backhandedly insult me,"

"Quinn, I'm not…"

"Save it, Evans. I have to be up early tomorrow and I could still get a good night's sleep," she smirked. "Let's just leave it at that, okay?" smacking her lips together, Quinn started towards the front door, leaving Sam no choice but to follow.

"Did anybody ever tell you you're cute when you take charge?" Sam chuckled, shrugging his leather jacket back onto his body and jamming a baseball cap on his head.

Quinn looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed. It was as if Sam had two sides – one that flirted with her and one that just made her downright annoyed. She found them blurring together every once in a while, but it didn't stop her from rolling her eyes at him and cocking her head to one side. "Out," Quinn demanded, holding the front door open.

Sam chuckled, taking a tentative step outside into the cool night air. But before Quinn could even think about slamming the door shut on him, he turned around and locked his gaze on her. Green eyes meet hazel ones and Quinn felt her heart race – for a brief second, she was reminded as to why every other girl in the world was so desperately in love with Sam Evans.

* * *

"It'll never work! They're both too stubborn,"

"I agree. Sam's got a lot on his plate with recording right now and he's still doing benefit concerts and events. Adding a PR relationship to his schedule is something we can't afford. Something the record label can't afford,"

Santana pressed the palms of her hands together and rested her chin on the tips of her fingers, her dark brown eyes brewing with determination and a diabolical sneer traced across her lips. Perched on the edge of her glass office table, she was facing both Tina and Mike – two of her biggest clients' most trusted friends. While one was a personal assistant and best friend to Quinn, the other was manager (and Santana's ex-boyfriend) to Sam. Both were incredibly essential in Santana's scheme, but getting them to agree was a whole different story.

When she had listened to Sam's frantic voicemail about the rumor, Santana had done what every good publicist would have done – checked to make sure it was true. Sure enough, in a matter of seconds, thousands of online tabloids began reporting on Sam Evans and Quinn Fabray, the hottest Young Hollywood romance this week. Her first instinct had been to do some major damage control, but considering she discovered the rumor at 2 in the morning, there wasn't much she could do.

Which was exactly when the idea came to her.

"I'm not asking them to televise their wedding. But look at it from a strictly business point of view. Sam's last big thing was his tour, which was last year. Sure, he's recording and doing appearances, but his fans go months without hearing anything new from him. He's fading out of the tabloids and without any real buzz, his star meter's going to plummet," Santana explained, eyeing Mike seriously, before focusing her attention on Tina. "And with Quinn's show on hiatus and her option for next season still in negotiations, she's almost dropped off the radar. All her other castmates have something going on and the public are going to get bored of seeing the same Starbucks candids for the next few months,"

"But why a PR relationship? Why not a vacation or a magazine feature or a fundraiser…anything else? Quinn's going to hate the idea, San," Tina pleaded.

"Because paparazzi are not going to follow either of them on individual vacations and magazine features are offered to people who are relevant," Santana explained. "I'm not saying it's a fool-proof plan and I'm sure it oversteps a couple boundaries to butt into their personal lives…but it's something,"

"It's something crazy," Mike muttered. "Sam will do a lot for you, Santana, you know that. But going along with a PR relationship? It's the one thing he'll never agree to,"

"I'm with Mike on this one," Tina piped up, raising herself off the couch and side-eyeing Mike, a brief smile stretching across her lips. "Quinn is the most hard-headed person I know. She'll never go for it, even if I think otherwise,"

"You think otherwise?" Santana snapped her head back around to face Tina, her eyes wide with glee. "So you think it's a good idea, then?"

"It's not…a completely…terrible idea," she relented, flopping back down on the couch, a sigh escaping her lips. "I mean, from a publicist's point of view, it makes sense,"

"So we've got you on board!" Santana clapped her hands happily, before turning to Mike and giving him a cold, hard stare. Shifting uncomfortably, Mike groaned, running a hand through his hair and pressing his palms together, deep in thought.

"Tina's right,"

"Yes!"

"But the question still remains, Lopez," he started, getting up from his position on the couch and moving towards the center of the room. "How are you going to get Sam and Quinn to agree?"

"Easy. Tell them they have no choice," Santana grinned. "They'll do anything for their careers. Deep in their hearts, they're passionate about what they do and that's always going to work in my favor,"

"You're despicable," Tina stifled a laugh, shaking her head at the publicist's ruthlessness.

"I'm _that_ _good_," Santana shot back, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards. "Now get out of here. I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this…" she waved her arms towards the pair, gesturing them to leave the room.

As Mike and Tina exited Santana's office building, there was a tense silence between them and they kept their distance by staying preoccupied with their own mobile phones. It wasn't until they neared the curb that Mike finally turned to the petite Asian girl, searching her eyes for some sort of a reassurance that they were doing the right thing.

"This could be a royal screw up," he admitted, tapping his fingers against his jean-clad thigh impatiently.

"Or it could be the greatest PR move in Hollywood history," Tina shrugged, her eyes twinkling.

"And you don't feel the slightest bit of guilt about asking your best friend to go along with this? You know how ruthless the media can be,"

"I do know," she nodded. "But I also know how tough Quinn is. And how she never quits. And Santana's right – they would both do anything to save their careers. How is this any different from going on promo tours?"

"Because this is self-promotion! She's not promoting a new movie or the new season of her show or some perfume brand! She'll be promoting herself and this fake relationship – she'll be lying to the world,"

"But every artist out there is doing self-promotion," Tina pointed out. "When Sam goes on tour or when he's recording or when he has a signing…he's Tweeting about it, posting about it, asking his fans for their opinions over the Internet. He's selling his music, right? The lyrics he writes, the melodies he creates…that's him. And in a way, he's selling himself,"

Mike paused, letting Tina's words sink in. Shaking his head, he replied, "This is crazy,"

"But possible. Look, the media can spin nothing into something. We can't control the tabloids or what they're going to say, but why shouldn't we at least try to control what's being projected into the world?" Tina asked rhetorically, before flagging down a cab with a quick wave of her fingers. "I've gotta go. Bring Sam to Quinn's at around 6 tonight and we'll talk about it then. Santana can handle the appearances and the tabloids, but it's up to us to handle their hearts," Tina flashed him a dazzling smile before hopping into the cab and speeding off.

Aside from being utterly confused and dumbfounded, Mike was suddenly beginning to realize that even though he was a smart man…Tina Cohen-Chang might have figured it all out before he did.

* * *

At five to six that night, Quinn paced the length of her spacious kitchen, words tumbling from her lips and her hands in a flurry of gestures. Her blonde hair fell across one shoulder in a side swept ponytail and wisps kept falling into her eyes, making her bat at her face constantly. Meanwhile, Tina stood by the microwave and waited for the rest of the popcorn to finish, all while watching Quinn comically pace across the room.

"I just can't believe that out of all the people I could be hanging out with tonight – and yes, I'm including _my mother_ in that list – it has to be Sam Evans!" she cried. "Tee, I don't like him,"

"I know. I've heard it loud and clear the first billion times you said it," Tina rolled her eyes.

"Then why did you invite him over?"

"Because we have business to discuss!"

"About the tabloids? Since when did discussions about my image involve people other than you and Santana?" Quinn grumbled, finally plopping onto a chair and resting her chin on top of her palm. "Do you have a thing for Mike or something?" she wondered aloud.

Tina, who was busy pouring the popcorn into a bowl, stopped immediately, a blush creeping up on her. She couldn't deny that there were those familiar butterflies in her stomach every time Mike occupied the same room she did, but there was no way Tina would make the first move. And talking with Quinn about men was pointless – she was beautiful and never had to work for a relationship. _'Although I guess that's going to change tonight,'_ Tina thought, stifling a chuckle.

"I do not have a thing for Mike," she said through gritted teeth. Picking up the huge bowl of popcorn and her own, already-opened, beer bottle, Tina made her way towards the living room and surveyed the area, making sure she was satisfied with it. Quinn sighed loudly and stomped towards the couch, plopping herself down ungracefully. "Will you be civil tonight? Just listen to what Mike and I have to say, what Santana wants to happen, and then you can make your decision, alright?"

"Fine," Quinn grumbled, crossing her arms like a petulant teenager. Before Tina could say something, the doorbell rang and she scrambled to get it, opening the large front door to reveal Mike and someone who resembled a Sam Evans.

"Hey, Tina," Mike's voice was tired and irritated, the look in his eyes pleading at her to bear with him. "Sam, say hi," he sharply nudged his friend with his elbow.

"Hey," the blonde, who's hair was covered up with a ratty baseball cap, grunted his greeting, before pushing past Mike and Tina to enter the house. Surprisingly, he headed straight for the living room and after a beat of silence – and a silent prayer from Tina – the four of them convened.

"This is gonna be fun," Mike muttered under his breath, just soft enough for Tina to hear. She chuckled, glancing at Sam and Quinn, who were seated at opposite ends of the sofa, acting like a pair of five year olds. "So you guys both know why we're here," he started.

"I actually don't," Quinn piped up, her back straight and proper. On the far end of the couch, Sam sat slouched and unimpressed.

"It's about the story that recently broke in the media,"

"We are _not_ dating each other," Quinn said forcibly. "He made sure of that the other night,"

"You're not perfect either, you know," Sam shot back.

"At least I'm not sleeping around with random – "

"Like _you_ know what I'm doing in my spare time! I bet you're…" Sam's voice was suddenly cut off by a loud whistle that pierced through the house, causing him to shrink back against the couch. "What was that for?!"

"You're both acting like idiots, that's why," Tina rolled her eyes, muttering a small thanks to Mike under her breath, before moving to stand directly in front of them. "As of right now, nobody in the world cares about you two," she said sharply.

Mike chuckled, before turning to look back at the couch. "Sam, your recording is going great and the label loves the new stuff, but in terms of your public image…that's shot. They're not talking about you because you're not on a multi-million dollar tour anymore and you've got no projects going on, aside from recording," he explained.

Tina nodded and turned to Quinn. "And sweetie, everybody else on the show is either shooting a movie or promoting one that they made last year. Meanwhile, paparazzi catches you coming out of Starbucks and the public are getting tired of it,"

"You and Santana said I couldn't take that movie in Hawaii!" Quinn squealed.

"Because that movie sucked," Tina sighed. "The point is, Santana's phone blew up the night the Elixir story broke,"

"And that's why she thinks it's a good idea," Mike exhaled. A flicker of confusion passed both Quinn and Sam's faces, until the realization of what he was saying finally settled. Eyes wide and jaws dropped, it would've been comical if it hadn't been sickly true.

"You want us to go along with it?" Quinn whispered softly, still in shock.

"It's a good idea. It's not the most ethical idea, but it's good. Santana hinted that it's what could save your career right now. If nobody cares what you're up to and negotiations are still on-going for Quinn's character on the show, it's what could save you the trouble of having to ask for attention," Mike winced, realizing the words that fell out of his mouth sounded near ridiculous. It was times like these he hated being a manager.

"So should we call Santana and set it all up?" Tina asked, biting her lip nervously.

At the thought of not coming back for another season, Quinn briefly entertained the idea of a PR relationship. She had always said she'd never agree to it…but when her career was in jeopardy, it was tempting to just go along with the ride. She saw where they were coming from – Tina, Mike, and Santana were just looking out for her. And on paper, she and Sam made a spectacular couple. She didn't have anything to lose and with Santana's expertise, there was no way the public would find out that it was all a set-up. There was only one problem, of course. _'He's a complete and total idiot,'_ she thought bitterly to herself.

Sam paused, letting the silence wash over him as he sat in shock. On one hand, he hated PR relationships. He knew people who had agreed to them, knew that they could either break you or make you. On the other hand, Quinn wasn't exactly the worst person to get paired up with. He stole a quick glance across the couch and saw her, all wild hair and wide eyes, dressed in impossibly short denim shorts and a tanktop that hugged at her curves. He'd be stupid not to admit she was stunningly beautiful, but the attitude just had to go. Uptight, prim, and incredibly judgmental, Sam couldn't think of a more infuriating woman. But even he couldn't disagree with Mike, Tina, and Santana's logic – as twisted and as unethical as it was. It all made perfect sense in Hollywood.

And in near perfect unison, Sam and Quinn both turned towards their best friends and nodded their heads.


	5. Chapter 4: People Are Crazy

**Hi everybody! Well, here it is...Chapter 4. :) I had a lot of fun writing this one, although it might be a little shorter than the previous chapters. Nonetheless, I hope you guys like it! This chapter picks up the day after the last one, so it's just after Sam and Quinn agree to a publicity relationship. Therefore, fun times ensue, of course! Also, the title of this chapter comes from a Billy Currington song. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a country music fan and I really just love the fact that Sam (and Chord Overstreet) is from Nashville, so I tend to play up his Southern-ness quite a bit in my fics. :)**

**I don't own Billy Currington, Glee, or its characters, obviously. If I did, Sam Evans would be on his way to Yale to win back Quinn's heart. :P**

**Enjoy and don't forget to review, please! :) Xoxo.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: People Are Crazy**

The next morning, Sam woke up to a rainy day, the thunder rumbling against the walls of his house. Blindly fumbling towards the kitchen, he poured the last of the coffee into a mug and sat at the small table, resting his head on the palm of his hand. Last night had felt like a dream. He couldn't have possibly agreed to a PR relationship – a _fake_ relationship – with Quinn Fabray. But as the memories of the previous night trickled into his thoughts once again, Sam didn't know whether to laugh at the irony or be thoroughly miserable. Quinn was not going to be an easy fake girlfriend. _'I guess that means I'm not going to be an easy fake boyfriend, either,'_ he thought to himself.

"Santana's here," Puck's voice jolted Sam out of his stupor and he looked up dazedly.

"Mmmkay,"

"With _Quinn_," Puck emphasized, snickering to himself as he saw the way Sam stood straight up. He tugged at his messy hair, his eyes wide with panic.

"What?!"

"Yeah, they're walking up the driveway,"

"I'm not here. Tell them I'm not here!" Sam cried, knocking back the rest of his lukewarm coffee.

"Don't be such a wuss," Puck rolled his eyes. "Besides, they called earlier and I said you'd be up," he chuckled, clapping a comforting hand on Sam's back. "She looks good, by the way," the guitarist waggled his eyebrows suggestively, before exiting the kitchen. Sam shook his head, breathing deeply. He hadn't told any of his band members or his family about the PR relationship – in fact, he had been hoping everybody had magically forgotten about it.

Instead, Sam paced the length of the kitchen, desperately trying to figure out why he was so nervous. Taking a quick peek out the window, he saw Santana and Quinn, both who had stopped just a stone's throw away from his front door. The brunette, clutching a Thermos of what was probably coffee, was tugging on Quinn's arm, a fed-up look on her face. Quinn stood, her arms crossed, and Sam couldn't help letting his gaze travel down her figure – dressed in a flattering dress and sandals, the sweet and preppy outfit was a stark contrast to the scowl she had across her face. He chuckled softly, under his breath, because as uptight as Quinn could be, he had to admire her resilience. She had agreed to the PR relationship as half-heartedly as he did, but they both did it for the sake of their careers – at the very least, Sam could appreciate her determination and dedication to her job.

"Sam, open the damn door!" Santana's piercing voice, followed by a string of Spanish expletives, prompted Sam to hurry towards the foyer, where he flung open the front door with a grimace. "Both of you, inside," Santana ushered both of them towards the living room, where they both sat at opposite ends of the couch.

"Alright, what's the deal, Lopez? You can't just walk in here like you own the place," Sam pointed out.

"Shut up," Santana rolled her eyes, pacing the length of the room with her hands on her hips. "I need you guys to go out. In public," she added the last part as an afterthought, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Quinn narrowed her eyes, glaring at Santana. "We _just_ agreed to this. Can't we have like…a week to deal with it?"

"Quinn's right," Sam chimed in, shrugging when she saw the blonde cast him a wary sideways glance.

"No, you're both wrong. Listen, we need to move fast. Just go to a coffee shop and sit together, act like you're dating or something. It has to be someplace that isn't totally mobbed, but it can't be too off the radar…" Santana tapped her fingers against her hips, the wheels turning in her head.

"You're crazy. I'm going back to sleep," Sam groaned, pushing his fingers through his messy hair as he started to get up from his sea.

"Evans, you better sit your butt back down. I had to turn my phone _off_ because I was getting so many calls from tabloids and event organizers – do you understand that? I turned my phone _off_," Santana enunciated every word with a death stare directed right into Sam's eyes and he nervously sat back down. "People want you to be at their parties, at their restaurants, at their events. The feedback is amazing! I can't believe I never thought about doing this before!"

Quinn scoffed, rolling her eyes. "That's because you actually had a heart before all this happened," she said, her voice full of venom. Santana blinked, as if Quinn's words made an impact, before shrugging her shoulders and going back to the task at hand.

"The point is, Sam needs to get into the shower and get dressed, then I'm shipping both of you to The Griddle for brunch," the Latina clapped her hands together with a finality, gesturing that both the young actress and musician should start moving. With a heayy sigh, Sam trudged up the stairs, listening to Quinn's soft voice pointlessly argue against their first public date.

Twenty minutes later, Sam sat opposite Quinn in a small corner booth of The Griddle – a trendy, but homely and comforting restaurant. There were already several photographers lingering outside, ready to pounce on both of them the minute they decided to leave, but they had managed to sneak in just fine. Quinn had graciously signed several autographs for a few girls and Sam dutifully took a few pictures with some fans, before they sat down to have a nice meal together.

Although 'nice' was probably an overstatement.

Despite it being extremely silent between the two, Sam noticed that Quinn's eyebrows were permanently knitted together in frustration. Meanwhile, Sam's constant foot-tapping was driving Quinn absolutely mad. Occasionally, when a passer-by stole a look at the couple, they would smile happily. She would giggle flirtatiously and he would tilt a corner of his mouth upwards in a suggestive grin. But as soon as the person walked away, sullen expressions would fall over their faces and silence would fill the booth.

But they had done what Santana had wanted them to do.

* * *

"Do you have to do that?" Quinn asked, the irritation in her voice evident. She was sitting in the passenger seat of Sam's black Escalade after their lunch date, her arms crossed, and a fixed scowl on her face. Glancing sideways, Sam quirked an eyebrow, wondering what she meant. "_That_…that tapping thing," she gestured towards his fingers on the steering wheel, which were drumming to a complicated rhythm she didn't understand.

"Does it really bother you that much?" Sam replied, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"I can't concentrate,"

"I'm the one who's driving," he pointed out incredulously.

"Whatever," Quinn rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, leaning back into the soft leather. In her opinion, lunch had been an absolute disaster. _'No, it was a PR success,'_ she thought to herself. _'But a personal disaster.' _She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, her fingers playing with the ends of her scarf. Staring out the window, she noticed they had turned into a more residential area and she snapped her head back towards Sam. "Where are we going?" she demanded.

"Grocery store,"

"What? _Why?_" It wasn't supposed to come out like a whiny complaint, but she couldn't help herself. They just had brunch together; didn't she get to go home now, instead of fake her way through insufferable conversation with him?

"Because I need groceries," he answered, enunciating the last word, as if he was talking to someone with a mental capability of a two year old. "You're good with that, right?" Sam didn't wait for her answer and instead, swung his car into the nearest parking spot, hopping out of it easily.

"Of _course_ I'm good with that. How could you have possibly known that I had no other plans today? Idiot," Quinn allowed herself ten seconds of sarcasm and curses under her breath, while Sam was out of the car, before pushing herself out, following him closely. The minute she stepped onto the pavement, she noticed a familiar flash of light and almost instinctively, she grabbed Sam's hand.

The sudden contact immediately made Sam turn into her, causing her to press up against his chest. They both looked at each other awkwardly, Quinn offering a small shrug and Sam letting out a light chuckle, before another flash of light interrupted them. They blinked, letting their eyes get used to the natural light again, before he took hold of Quinn's hand and pulled them both into the grocery store. Once inside, underneath the artificial, fluorescent lighting, Sam loosened his grip and Quinn's hand fell limply at her side. Surprisingly, she found herself already missing his warmth – for a split second, as Sam had guarded both of them as they made their way into the store; she had felt protected and safe.

"Uh…I'm going to get a cart," Sam ran a hand through his hair nervously, before shuffling away. Deciding to stay put, Quinn pulled her arms in closer and shivered, the thought of Sam's hand on hers still too fresh. It was strange, how she could feel so close to him and yet absolutely despise him at the same time. She had to keep reminding herself that Sam Evans was as good of an actor as he was a musician – the playboy image, the pictures of him stumbling out of clubs with random girls…that was Sam Evans.

"Alright, let's go," Quinn steeled herself and grabbed the cart away from him. She quickly trotted up and down the aisles, pausing only to toss in the things she wanted, figuring that if she could get one thing out of this entire PR date, it'd be one less errand to cross of her list. Soon enough, their shopping cart was piled high with both of their purchases and as she looked down at the giant mess, she couldn't help but giggle.

"What's so funny?"

"Do you see this right now?" she bit her lip and gestured in front of her, eyes twinkling. "You have protein bars, candy, frozen steaks, and six-packs of beer. I have vegetables, gummy bears, pasta, and a bottle of wine…it's like, we couldn't be any more different," Quinn giggled under her breath.

Sam stared back at her, in shock over seeing her walls break down little by little. "How is that funny?" he asked.

"It's just…I mean, Santana keeps saying this is such an amazing idea," Quinn started, pushing the cart down the aisle slowly, making sure Sam fell into step beside her. "But we're so different. Not just because I'm an actress and you're a musician, we're just…we run in different circles. So it's really weird that the public is eating it up," she shrugged.

Sam nodded along, sneaking in three bottles of Gatorade, even though he knew she had seen him do it. Giving her a small shrug, he started humming in a low voice," God is great, beer is good…"

"And people are crazy," Quinn sang softly, and then shook her head, as if she hadn't meant to say it. Sam turned towards her, his eyes wide. "I mean…"

"Billy Currington?" he asked, a smirk tilting the corners of his lips up. "You know, Santana told me once you only listen to obscure bands…"

Quinn immediately blushed, ducking her head so her blonde hair covered up her cheeks. "When you think about it, Billy Currington is kind of obscure. At least, in the LA music scene,"

"You like country!" Sam pumped his fist in the air, his sudden outburst causing several shoppers to eye him strangely. Lowering his voice to a soft whisper, he positioned himself in front of the cart and leaned forward. "Let me guess…you're a big Dolly Parton fan?"

"Shut up," Quinn rolled her eyes at his teasing, her lips curling into a smile. With a playful shove, she steered the cart against his body and they both rolled their way towards the counters.

With the exception of a star-struck checkout employee, they managed to make their way back to the car relatively unscathed. After several minutes of adjusting herself into the passenger seat, she stole a glance at Sam, who was busy fiddling with the radio. He hadn't put his seatbelt on, or even closed the door, but she couldn't help but find it completely endearing – that he was so passionate and in love with music that everything else had to wait. Quinn watched his bottom lip puff out in concentration, finally settling on a slow, old-school, alternative rock song she just happened to love. Sam's face broke out in a fierce grin and she couldn't help giggling – he was so excited and so happy, it was infectious. As he slammed his door shut and peeled out of the parking lot, Quinn didn't even notice the crowd of photographers clicking and shouting as they sped away.

* * *

"So, how was the big, great date?" Tina sauntered into the living room, balancing a fat textbook under one arm and holding two mugs of hot tea. She handed one to Quinn, before sidestepping the coffee table to sit in the opposite armchair.

"Thanks," Quinn murmured, taking a quick sip. Holding the mug securely on top of her curled up knees, she leaned her head in the palm of her hand, biting her lip. For the most part, she had hated the set-up date. Sam Evans was still arrogant, conceited, and a brat. But he had also been charming and there had been times when Quinn would find a crack in his wall - these glimpses of an incredibly endearing person underneath all the bluster he put up as a front. Breathing in deeply, Quinn shrugged and said, "The date was…tolerable,"

"You go on a date with Sam Evans and it was just _tolerable_?" Tina snorted. "You know his face is plastered on nearly every teenage girl's bedroom wall, right?"

"That's disturbing,"

"Come on, you're telling me he has no moves? Or he's too suave to be sincere? Is he a gentleman? Did he make you laugh?" Tina prodded. "I've been stuck inside the house studying for my finals, I need some excitement!" she laughed.

Quinn smiled, shaking her head. "Honestly, Tee, it was just a date. A PR one, nonetheless. We dodged paparazzi, had a quiet meal together, then went to the grocery store," she explained, the image of Sam's teasing smile reappearing in her thoughts. "He's…not as bad as I thought he would be,"

"Details, Fabray," Tina prompted.

The blonde drew in a deep breath, before leaning forward and placing her mug on the table. Pushing her hair off her shoulders, Quinn hugged her knees tightly to her chest, her top teeth biting her lower lip in serious thought. "He comes off as this really arrogant character, but I think…well, maybe…that it might just be that. A_ character_. Because there were these times when…I don't know, it was like something fell down between us and I got to see him for who he really is. But then of course, the cameras would be out and he'd go back to being Sam Evans, the celebrity,"

Tina sighed, her eyebrows knitted together, as she listened intently. "So he has two personalities. There's the normal Sam and the Sam Evans celebrity persona," she offered.

Quinn nodded in agreement, before adding, "Right, but it's different. His celebrity personality, the one that gets projected out there, is so…intense. And it's like he can't really let that go, even when he's around other people,"

"So the lines between Sam and Sam Evans have started to blur,"

"Something like that," Quinn shrugged, leaning back into the couch. "You don't think that's strange?"

Tina let a beat of silence pass between them, as they sat opposite each other in the bright living room. "Actually, for Hollywood, I think it's quite normal," she pointed out. "You do the same thing, too. Maybe it's not as blurred for you, but Quinn Fabray and Quinn are two different people sometimes,"

"Yeah, but with him, it's like two extremes!"

"Well, fame came to him overnight. And besides, you're saying you hate both extremes?"

"No," Quinn replied quickly. "There's that extreme where he's a complete playboy and disregards any sense of normalcy…"

"But then there's that other extreme, where he's charming and sweet?" Tina asked, biting her lips when she saw the flush that spread across Quinn's cheeks. She had known the actress for a long time and despite what she kept saying about Sam's character – Tina knew one thing.

They were made for each other, publicity-wise or not.


	6. Chapter 5: A Little Bit Stronger

**Have I really been gone that long?! I'm so sorry! Honestly, I have NOT forgotten about this fic at all. It's just been absolutely nuts. I graduated university and I got a job, so I've been working and busy and oh gosh, basically have had no time to sit down and write something worthwhile. Lol. **

**Last chapter, we saw Quinn warm up a little to Sam after their little grocery date. I wanted to keep things moving along, so this chapter is going to be set two weeks later - if there's any confusion, just let me know! :)**

**Thanks so much for everybody who's been following this fic and for keeping up with me! I promise to try and update this more often, I still love Sam and Quinn so much. :)**

**Anyway, please read and review! I don't own Glee or its characters, otherwise Brittany and Santana would be helping Sam to get to Yale to fight for Quinn Fabray. :) Xoxo.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: A Little Bit Stronger**

_- Two weeks later - _

Santana stood with a satisfied grin, her arms cradling a stack of colorful tabloids. Across from her, Sam was quietly nursing a cup of coffee, while Quinn absentmindedly pulled her hair up into a ponytail. The glass doors muted the sounds of the busy PR office and a jazz song played softly from the iPod speakers on the dresser. Outside, the air was crisp and the sun was shining – a perfect LA day.

"These. Are. Gold," Santana punctuated each word by throwing down a magazine onto the coffee table. Sam raised his eyebrows, peering over the top of his coffee to scan the titles, before snorting in laughter. Quinn tugged her ponytail tighter and took a quick glance, her face breaking out into a smile.

"These are ridiculous," she giggled.

"Actually, I think we look pretty good in that one," Sam pointed to the cover of InTouch Weekly. Printed in huge, capital letters was the title, "The Hottest Hollywood Couple Goes Shopping!" Paired with a paparazzi shot of Sam and Quinn holding hands, the entire thing was laughable.

"They're fantastic. My phone has been ringing non-stop! I've gotten requests for appearances, requests for interviews, and Teen Vogue even wants to do a cover shoot…it's working!" Santana clapped her hands together excitedly, before stepping back to lean against her desk. "You guys are playing it so perfectly," she added.

Over the past two weeks, ever since Sam and Quinn had agreed to their first public outing together, they had fallen into a comfortable routine. When neither of them had to work, Quinn usually made her way over to Sam's house and they would pick an activity. Most days, it was a quick trip to the grocery store, lunch, or even dinner. Sometimes, they would go out with the rest of their friends (more for Tina and Mike's sake than anything else) and made sure to leave together. Recently, paparazzi had begun to catch Quinn sneaking into Sam's house late at night and leaving in the early morning – the story was that she was sleeping over, but in reality, she crashed in the guest bedroom while he worked in the studio.

And somewhere along the way, their relationship had changed, too. They still fought – Sam still infuriated Quinn and vice versa – but it had lessened in the face of camera flashes and public scrutiny. Instead, they found a balance and common interests that led to actual discussions and not screaming matches. Sam introduced Quinn to a library of country music she had never heard of; Quinn gave him lessons on how to act during music video shoots. Sam let her snap as many pictures as she wanted and she stocked his fridge with dinners when he was too lazy to go out.

As long as they had all their stories straight, it was becoming easy to trick everybody.

"So, what do we do next? More of the same stuff?" Quinn asked, reaching across the couch to stealthily snatch the coffee out of Sam's hand. He protested, before huffing and giving it up to her. "I don't know how much the paparazzi can take of us going to lunch,"

"Well, you guys have been doing so well...we're going to celebrate tonight!" Santana grinned.

"Cool, where we going?" Sam asked. "Vegas?"

Santana rolled her eyes, before reaching back to grab something. "No, not Vegas, you idiot," she turned back, holding up two tickets. "How do you guys feel about your first red carpet appearance?"

Quinn coughed, choking on the big gulp of coffee she had just felt go down her throat. Looking over at Sam, who was leaning back casually against the couch and who seemed completely unfazed by the whole thing, she felt a flush of color rise on her cheeks. "A red carpet? Like…together?" she asked, immediately wishing her voice didn't come out so squeaky.

"Obviously," Santana rolled her eyes, slapping the two tickets onto the coffee table and pushing them towards Sam and Quinn. "It's the premiere of an indie film. Very low-key, very trendy, and very exclusive," she waved her hands dismissively. "You guys in?"

There was a soft silence that came over the room and Quinn bit her lip, looking back and forth between Sam and Santana. She was used to going out for coffees, dealing with the paparazzi, and keeping up appearances. But ever since she had agreed to the PR relationship with Sam Evans, Quinn had somehow relegated herself to the background, because now – well, now she had another person in the candid shots that were taken of her. And although she had gotten used to the constant flashes that accompanied every single outing she and Sam went out on, it was definitely going to be a different situation when they were on the red carpet. There, everything was calculated, down to the pose, the walk, and the smiles.

She saw Sam take a deep breath and turn towards her, a hesitant look in his eyes. Maybe it was because the past two weeks had been so effortless or maybe they were actually starting to understand each other, but Quinn knew he had the same doubts as she did. He exhaled slowly, running a nervous hand through his blonde hair, mussing it up to near bedhead perfection. Quinn found herself momentarily distracted, as she watched his muscles ripple underneath the white V-neck he was wearing. For a split second, she briefly entertained the image of Sam Evans in a tailored suit.

"We're in,"

The words slipped out of her mouth before her mind could even comprehend them.

* * *

"So, it's a play?"

"No, it's a film,"

"You sound so pretentious," Tina leaned back, folding her legs carefully on top one another. She took a long sip from her wine glass and watched as Quinn fastened the back of her earrings in a slow, hesitant motion.

"I'm nervous,"

"That's obvious,"

"No, I'm really, really nervous," Quinn shook her head, her blonde curls falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She stood up, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles in her lace dress. Twirling slowly, she put her hands on her hips and faced Tina. "Am I too overdressed? It's a premiere, but it's not one of those super glitzy premieres and Santana did say it was low-key, so maybe I should change into jeans - "

"Oh my god, shut up," Tina interjected, laughing at her best friend. "I don't get it, it's just another PR date with Sam. You've been on a million of those in the past two weeks," she pointed out.

"Those were different and you know it," Quinn tugged at a stray curl. "This is...this is big. When we went out for dates before, it was just us leaving the store and holding hands. This is...this is convincing the world that we're actually together. This is holding hands on the red carpet and smiling up at each other and making sure all the photographers get the best shot that says, 'Hey! We're in love!' It's nerve-wracking!"

Tina rolled her eyes, setting her wine glass down on a nearby table. "You need to chill out. It's just a movie premiere and the red carpet takes two to five minutes, tops," she shrugged. "Besides, you've got nothing to worry about. Sam's great at this PR stuff. You'll definitely have the best accessory in that department,"

"Tina!" Quinn laughed, taking a seat on the edge of her bed, careful not to wrinkle her dress. After a beat, she said, "No, you're right, though. He is surprisingly good at all this,"

"Shocked, are we?"

"Just surprised. Pleasantly so," Quinn conceded. She stood up again, examining herself in the full-length mirror. With her hair pinned half-up, half-down, the curls framed her face perfectly and although Tina always reassured her a million times, Quinn never failed to second-guess herself before a big event. There was always something to be picked apart - her eye makeup, her hairstyle, the way her nose fit on her face.

There had been a time, when she had gotten her first taste of success, when the camera flashes terrified her. Quinn would come home from a day of shopping and meticulously go through every paparazzi shot of herself online - picking apart every single angle and flaw. Over time, she had learned to ignore the constant hounding, the negative comments, and the critics. After all, she was in Hollywood to be a working actress. Once she had learned that, Quinn quickly learned to hold her own against the camera flashes and bright lights.

But for a girl who claimed to love her independence and prided herself on being self-sufficient, Quinn couldn't deny the little butterflies she got in her stomach whenever she felt Sam's arm pull her closer to his chest to shield her from the paparazzi. She couldn't deny that safe comfort he provided every time they stepped out and he gripped her hand tightly to make sure they wouldn't lose each other in the crowd. He was a security that she had never had before and a part of her - a small part - was excited to walk down the red carpet with him, knowing that no matter what happened, he would be there to help her through it.

"Quinn, your phone is ringing," Tina's voice jolted Quinn out of her daydream and she swiveled away from the mirror. She grabbed the small phone out of her friend's hands and held it up her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I'm outside your front door and I've been ringing the doorbell for like, five minutes. Think you could let me in?" a deep, irritated voice came through the speaker and Quinn chuckled.

It was time for the show to start.

* * *

When Sam was in the car on the way to pick up Quinn, he had gone over several scenarios in his head about how the night would go. Most of them involved fighting, some of them involved blowing their cover to the press, and one of the scenarios even ended up with Quinn slapping him in the face. But none of them had made the slightest mention as to how Quinn Fabray looked that night. He was speechless when he first saw her coming down the stairs at her house and now, sitting across from each other in a comfortable black limo, Sam couldn't take his eyes off her.

Call it a change of heart or call it insanity, but she was downright beautiful - more so tonight than any other time he had seen her. _'And she's not hurling insults at me. She's all quiet and demure and...good God, what's wrong with me?'_ Sam's thoughts battled inside his head.

"Are you nervous?" her usually harsh tone (reserved specifically for him) was now unexpectedly nervous, as she cast her glance towards Sam.

"A little. I don't like red carpets much, but I'm sure you're used to them,"

"I'm not," Quinn shook her head and looked down, the curly tendrils framing her face perfectly. "I mean, I'm used to premieres and stuff, but never...I've never gone to one with a date," she exhaled.

"Never?" his eyebrows perked up, a smirk crossing his lips.

"No making fun of me," she held up a finger as if to stop him, smiling. "I always just took Tina or a close friend or I just went by myself," Quinn shrugged.

"Well, how different can it be, right?" Sam shrugged, tugging his blazer so it fell perfectly around his torso. "We just have to put on a good show, that's all,"

"Which I'm sure you know all about, of course," Quinn's lips turned into a half-smile, half-smirk and Sam stared at her for a minute, completely dumbstruck.

He didn't know how or why. Maybe it was Quinn's lacy dress or the sight of her long legs draping over each other. Maybe it was the way her eyes lit up or the way her lips were turning redder and redder with each bite. 'Something's different tonight and I don't know what it is,' he thought. For the past two weeks, he and Quinn had fallen into a familiar routine. She still annoyed him, with her holier-than-thou attitude, but for the most part, they managed to get along. Sam had come to appreciate the way she involuntarily took care of him - making sure he ate (something he always forgot to do when he was wrapped up in recording), making sure he took time off for the gym and his friends, and even making sure his fridge was stocked with all the essentials. It really was a testament to how far they had come.

And she was comforting, too. It was a strange comparison, but Sam likened her to a security blanket. When he was holding Quinn's hand or wrapping his arms around her for the cameras, he always felt a little bit more at ease. Paparazzi bothered him a lot more than they bothered Quinn and he had never been able to deal with them in a civilized manner. But with Quinn in the picture, Sam behaved.

"I just know what the paparazzi want. You know, give them minimum amount and hope they disappear," Sam shrugged, selfishly checking his reflection in the car window. "You don't want to back out, do you?"

"No!" Quinn's protest came quickly and Sam turned to look at her, a smirk curling across his lips. "I mean, we're nearly there. And Santana's right, you know. We could keep going for dates and stuff, but it doesn't make sense to keep a PR relationship private. We might as well milk it for what its worth,"

"You're starting to sound like Santana and Mike," Sam chuckled, shaking his head. Quinn smiled back and they stayed like that for a while - grinning at each other, until the car slowed down and someone knocked on their door. Taking a deep breath, Sam braced himself for the camera flashes, before opening the car door and stepping out.

The throng of reporters, photographers, and fans was much bigger than he had anticipated. It was just the premiere of an indie movie, after all - not some blockbuster. Sam managed to keep his head down, taking the briefest of seconds for his eyesight to adjust, before holding out his hand for Quinn to grasp. She clutched his fingers tightly, her thumb rubbing the back of his hand in an effort to calm them both down. He led her towards the start of the red carpet and they searched the crowd for someone familiar. Quinn was the one who spotted Santana's assistant and the couple rushed over to them, going through one last check before Santana herself shoved Sam and Quinn onto the red carpet.

Cameras flashed, people screamed their names, and all the while, Quinn and Sam turned into each other protectively. He kept a tight grip around her waist, his fingers dancing lightly across the lacy fabric that rested against her hips. She clutched at his blazer and looked up at him with the biggest smile on her lips, making sure the cameras caught every moment. As they made their way to the next mark on the red carpet, Quinn took hold of Sam's hand instinctively, pulling him close.

"Please tell me her boobs are fake," Sam bent his head down to whisper in Quinn's ear and she giggled, taking a glance at the socialite that was a few steps ahead of them on the red carpet.

"Of course they are," she nudged him slightly with her hip and he grinned back, playfully giving one of her curls a quick tug. They stood at their last mark on the red carpet, smiling widely for the photographers, before stepping off and heading inside to find Santana and the rest of their entourage. Quinn threw one last look over her shoulder to look at the red carpet - the noise had noticeably decreased and a majority of the cameras had been put away. Instead, reporters and photographers were chatting with each other, fanning themselves with the event programme leaflets.

_'Funny, it's like...we were the show,'_ she thought.

* * *

"Why do girls insist on wearing heels when you know they're going to hurt your feet by the end of the night?"

"Dude, no pain, no gain,"

"What exactly are you gaining…_dude_?"

"Height,"

It was 2 AM in the morning and instead of heading straight home after the movie premiere, Sam and Quinn had decided to reroute the limousine to the nearest drive-thru. Now, after getting dropped off at Sam's house, they were relaxing in the living room – Quinn still in her lace dress and disheveled hair, Sam in his dress pants and unbuttoned shirt.

"Girls are nuts," Sam shook his head, popping a French fry into his mouth.

"See, what is that?" Quinn whined, stretching her legs out in front of her and gesturing towards him. "How can guys eat whatever they want and not gain a single pound? Meanwhile, women have to watch what they eat, go to the gym, and count calories? So unfair,"

"Not be a total pain in the ass, but since when do you have to count calories? You're like a stick," he teased, reaching over the couch and poking her in the side. Quinn squealed, jumping back and nearly spilling her drink.

"Oh, like you don't care what you look like?" she raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Like you don't spend every spare minute you have working out at the gym?"

"So I like to keep in shape!" Sam protested, a chuckle escaping his mouth. A comfortable silence fell between them, the only sound coming from a soft country song playing in the background. There were a lot of things to say, but for some reason, tonight had made them different to each other.

Quinn couldn't deny it any longer; she was starting to see where the line was drawn when it came to Sam Evans, the celebrity, versus Sam Evans, the normal guy. He was considerate and charming and funny, but in front of cameras, he was suave and lovable. Either way, she had quickly learned to adjust accordingly. When they did interviews on the red carpet earlier in the night, Quinn recalled the two of them bouncing answers off each other, as if they had been doing interviews together their whole lives.

Almost as if he was reading her mind, Sam spoke up first.

"You were really good tonight. PR-wise,"

"Thanks," she replied in a small voice. "So were you,"

"How long do you think it's going to last? This thing, I mean," he asked, gesturing at the both of them. Quinn glanced up at him, her top teeth grabbing her bottom lip in a nervous bite. _'He's already thinking of bailing,'_ she thought to herself, wondering why on earth her heart fell a little at the revelation. Obviously the arrangement had to end some time, but for some reason, she hadn't comprehended that fact just yet.

"I guess it could go on for a while, knowing Santana," she shrugged, taking a sip of her water and putting the glass back down. Sighing loudly, she added, "Thanks, though. I know I'm no picnic and I know we're both not really into this thing, but thanks for making the effort, at least. Over these past few weeks…" Quinn trailed off, noticing Sam shaking his head at her suddenly, his lips curled into a playful smirk. "What?"

"Are you thanking me for being a good fake boyfriend?" he inquired, his eyebrows quirked.

"I just…I mean, come on, we're both not really into the whole…" she babbled, her hands gesturing wildly between them, before Sam caught both her wrists gently and brought her face to face with him.

"Thank _you_," he enunciated, grinning.

Quinn let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding in. Sam's face was inches away from hers and a lock of blond hair fell lazily over his forehead. His lips curled upwards in a breathtaking smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and for a split second, Quinn was once again reminded of why and how so many young women fell head over heels for Sam Evans every single day.

'_Damn it.'_


	7. Chapter 6: Champagne for My Real Friends

**Hi guys! I know this chapter comes quite a bit after that last one, but the wait definitely wasn't as long, so here ya go. :P Last time, we saw Quinn start to fall a little bit for Sam. This chapter moves things right along and announces a couple of things that could prove to be obstacles to them getting together...you'll see! :)**

**I had a lot of fun writing this, everything came really easily, so I hope you like it! Read, review, and enjoy!**

**Obviously, I don't own Glee or its characters. If I did...well, it wouldn't be on this stupid hiatus. Lol.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Champagne for My Real Friends**

A loud, ringing noise pierced through the once-calm morning and Sam was vaguely aware that his bedside table was shaking violently. Buried underneath several large blankets, he stirred, lifting his head from his face down sleeping position. Looking around the room, his bleary eyes blinked furiously, trying to get his brain to start working fast enough to stop the incessant ringing. His gaze landed on the small cell phone that shook his bedside table with vibrations and he sighed exasperatedly, when he recognized the name on the screen. He cursed softly under his breath, before he reached over, slid his finger across the touch screen, and held it up to his ear.

"Mom?"

"Well, good morning to you too, Samuel," a familiar, (usually) comforting voice came through the phone, dripping with sarcasm. "I've been calling for the past 20 minutes – why didn't you tell me you changed your number?" she demanded.

"Sorry, mom. It must have slipped my mind," Sam sighed, pushing his hair off his forehead and leaning back against his headboard.

"Yes, like so many other things. Which is why I had to call Santana to get my _own son's _phone number. Now tell me, did the fact that you're dating a pretty girl also slip your mind?" Mrs. Evans' voice softened slightly, but her Southern twang still demanded answers.

"Oh," Sam groaned inwardly. In the midst of work, partying, and keeping up appearances with Quinn, he had completely forgotten to let his family in on their little secret.

"That's what you have to say for yourself?" his mother scoffed.

"Look, mom, I'm really sorry, okay? Things have just been really crazy and I'm recording like, all the time now...I barely have time to eat," he retorted, hoping his voice didn't sound too whiny over the phone.

"I know, honey, I know," Sam grinned, recognizing his mother's tone and knew he was already back in her good graces. "Listen, the reason why I called is because I've got a surprise for you!"

"Mom, I promised to autograph like, a hundred pictures already last month for you – there can't be that many kids in middle school," he snickered. There was a pause, before Sam heard his mother sigh.

"Oh, Sammy, just listen," she said. "Stacy and I are flying into LA!" Mrs. Evans declared excitedly.

Sam immediately straightened, his fingers gripping at the edge of his blanket. He didn't even need to glance down to know that his knuckles had turned white and his face was already three shades lighter than usual.

"What?"

It wasn't like Sam didn't love his family – he loved them, a lot. His parents were supportive and understanding. His little brother, Stevie, could be a pain, but he was a bright kid. And his little sister was the family's pride and joy. But that didn't mean Sam wanted his family in LA – especially when he was in the midst of recording and pretending to be Quinn's boyfriend. They didn't quite understand the cutthroat side of the business and he just knew his mother would have a few choice words to say about his and Quinn's little arrangement. Having grown up in the south, Mrs. Evans had taught Sam all about being a gentleman – and nowhere in that handbook did they have a section on how to maneuver fake relationships.

"Isn't that exciting? Stacy's so happy she gets to see you! We'll be there on Thursday," his mother's voice was comforting and for the briefest of moments, Sam's heart ached to be back in Tennessee, playing his guitar on the family's front porch and listening to the soft quiet that only came with being in the south.

"Um. Yeah," he replied absentmindedly.

"And I'll get to meet this Quinn Fabray you're dating!"

Sam's eyes widened and he cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder, immediately hopping out of bed. Fumbling in the dim light, he made his way towards his dresser and clutched the edge of it for balance, while he tried to put on a pair of basketball shorts. "Whoa. Back up – who said you'd be meeting her?"

"_Sam Evans_," her voice had turned into a low, gravelly, threatening tone and Sam swallowed, knowing what it signified.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You barely keep in touch with us anymore. Then you change your number. So…no. You will be introducing me to your girlfriend and we will have lunch and I will get to know the…the other half of Hollywood's hottest couple. Are we clear?" she added, as an afterthought. Sam sighed, quiet enough so his mother wouldn't hear and decided to give in. There wasn't much he could do once his mom set her mind to something.

"Yes, ma'am,"

He hung up the phone a few minutes later, shaking his head incredulously at the whole phone call. On one hand, it really was a nice surprise that his mom and sister were coming to visit. Under any other circumstances, he would've been absolutely thrilled. But under _these_ circumstances…he really wished they wouldn't. Splashing some cold water on his face and deciding against wearing a t-shirt (Los Angeles was far too hot that day), Sam made his way downstairs.

He was vaguely aware that there was some sort of high-pitched squealing coming from the kitchen, but didn't think much of it, until the moment he stepped in. He felt a pair of arms fling around his neck and he staggered backwards slightly from the impact, puzzled as to why he was now holding a jumpy, excited, and loud Quinn Fabray in his arms – not that he was complaining, of course.

"Guess what, guess what, guess what?" she asked, punctuating every other word with a little hop. Sam glanced down at her, a smile already forming on his lips – her excitement was infectious. Her eyes were bright and the bounce in her step made her ponytail bounce up and down.

"What, what, what?" he smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes. Quinn looked up at him and crinkled her nose, before whacking him on the bare chest playfully. Quickly untangling herself from his grip, she walked over to the kitchen island and hopped up, swinging her legs back and forth.

"I read this really amazing script last week. Like…_really_ amazing," she started, twisting a lock of her blond hair around her finger. "It's a serious film, sort of offbeat and indie. This coming of age story between two people and there are guns and violence and suspense…it's just really amazing," Quinn said breathlessly. Her gaze followed Sam around the kitchen, as he poured himself a mug of coffee and prepared himself a bagel.

"That's awesome,"

"It is," she nodded, grinning widely. "But see, the thing is, I read the script too late – auditions were closed,"

"But you somehow found a way in?" he asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"Duh," she laughed, pulling the elastic out of her hair and letting it tumble over her shoulders. "It turns out that Will, my agent, is actually close friends with the director and passed him one of my audition tapes. I went for a meeting with them a couple of weeks ago and…"

"You got a part?" he grinned, straightening up.

"I got _the_ part!" Quinn squealed, covering her face with her hands in delight. "They just called me and offered me the lead!"

Sam chuckled, ditching his breakfast to give her another hug. This time, without even being fully conscious of it, he dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead. When he pulled away, he noticed Quinn's gaze dropping from his eyes – only to focus on his bare torso, instead. The air in the kitchen suddenly rose several degrees and Sam found himself looking down at Quinn, closer than he ever had before. He could feel both their hearts beating between them and for some strange reason; his fingers ached to brush away the strands of blonde hair that had fallen into her eyes. Sam's body, completely of its own accord, leaned into her and he brought his head closer and closer…

"What are you guys doing?"

Mike's voice pierced through the air and Quinn jumped at the intrusion. They sprang apart, looking away from each other and Sam silently cursed Mike's terrible timing. Had he really wanted to kiss Quinn Fabray? The very same girl that he had written off as uptight and high-strung? It wasn't the craziest thing in the world, but Sam was positive you weren't supposed to start crushing on the other person in a clearly-fake relationship. They had an agreement, didn't they? And sure, they didn't hate each other anymore and they were civil and friendly and supportive of one another – after all, there weren't a lot of people who could exactly understand their situations. But still…Sam Evans didn't fall – he just didn't.

"Hey, Mike," Quinn gave him a warm smile and hurried over to hug him quickly. "Breakfast?"

"Did I interrupt something?" he asked, pulling out his earphones and settling on a kitchen stool.

"Of course not," she quipped, shoving a plate of fruit in front of him. "We have bagels, too,"

"We?" Mike smirked, darting his gaze from blonde to blonde.

"Did you want something? Or did you just come over to order me back into the studio?" Sam snapped.

Mike chuckled – getting his best friend irritated was always fun. "I heard your mom and Stacy are coming to town,"

"They are? Why didn't you tell me?" Quinn cried, leaning over to whack Sam against his arm. "When are they coming?"

"First off, ouch," Sam said, reaching over to tug at a strand of Quinn's hair in retaliation. "Second of all, my mom only called me this morning. They land on Thursday,"

"You ready?" Mike asked warily.

Sam hesitated, knowing the exact meaning to Mike's question. He took a deep breath and shrugged. "I guess,"

"Oh, it'll be _fine_," Quinn huffed, snatching the apple slice Mike was just about to eat right out of his hand. "Just make sure you guys keep the house clean until Thursday and we'll take them out for a really nice dinner on Friday night. Now, if you boys will excuse me, I've got to get home and run lines for my new movie," she grinned, taking a bite out of the apple gleefully. "Bye!"

And with a delicate wave of her fingers, Quinn skipped happily out of the kitchen.

* * *

There was a slight chill in the crisp, evening air, as Quinn tugged her sparkly cardigan tighter around herself later that night. She was seated in a comfortable armchair at one of her favorite restaurant-bars in Los Angeles, a small, neighborhood establishment tucked away behind the hills, called Circus. The room was dim and the crowd was a balanced mix of the older and younger generations, while the live jazz band played softly in the background. Quinn took a sip of her cocktail, plucking a French fry out of the basket in front of her, and leaned back, letting out a long sigh.

"Well, you look happy," Tina's voice interrupted the quiet, as she leaned down to surprise Quinn with a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Little Miss Hollywood,"

"Hey," Quinn grinned, straightening up. "Sorry, I ordered a little first,"

Tina waved her hand dismissively, reaching over to take a sip of Quinn's cocktail, instead. "So why so happy?"

"I got the part," she answered, her voice dropping to a low, excited whisper. Just as she had expected, Tina's reaction was nothing short of adorable. Her hands flew to her open mouth to suppress her excited shriek and she started bouncing up and down in her seat.

"I'm so happy for you!" she cried, standing up to give Quinn a bone-crushing hug. "You deserve it,"

"Thanks," Quinn smiled graciously, popping another fry into her mouth. "Santana already knows, of course. Will called her,"

"Of course," Tina said, with a tilt of her head. "What did Sam say?"

"He was super excited," Quinn replied after a beat, the color rising in her cheeks as she remembered that moment they had before Mike had interrupted them. "I don't think he totally understands the whole film industry, but he's happy for me. I just haven't…I mean, stuff came up after that,"

"Like what?"

Quinn took a deep breath, before exhaling slowly. She hadn't had the time to sit down and think about it, after Sam and Mike broke the news, but as soon as she got home, Quinn immediately started freaking out. She knew her relationship with Sam was fake and that it was all for show, but still – she had never met a boyfriend's family before (fake or real). Quinn's dating resume before this was short – it was hard to find a date in Hollywood when you blatantly refused to date people in the industry. So she had never been the warm, lovable-at-first-sight kind of girl. Sam had told her stories of how close his family was, how his parents supported his dreams and how they had a loving, compassionate, tight-knit home. It was a stark contrast to how she was raised, with her absentee parents who always just threw money at her and expected her to be fine.

"Sam's mom and sister are coming to LA on Thursday," Quinn announced, biting her lip.

Tina's eyes widened, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Okay, I definitely didn't see that one coming,"

"Yeah, well, neither did I!" Quinn cried. "Tee, what am I going to do? I mean, he thinks I'm totally fine with this, but…but what if I mess up?"

"How would you mess it up?"

"Sam's told me all about his family and they're super close. They're like, the quintessential perfect family – church on Sundays, family dinners, and everybody's sort of in everybody else's business. His parents are super supportive and he's close with his little brother and sister and what if…what if they don't like me?" Quinn rambled, her fingers twisting into the scarf that hung loosely around her neck. "Let's face it, I'm not exactly girlfriend material – I'm not the kind of girl mothers would want their sons to bring home to meet the family,"

"Okay, stop right there," Tina chuckled, holding up a hand. "First of all, you do remember that this thing between you and Sam is fake, right? And second of all, they're going to love you – everybody does,"

"Tee, it's not just…I don't know, it all seems so real. I can fake it to people I don't know, like the paparazzi and the media. That part is easy," Quinn took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "But I could never fool relatives. I never had to think about it. It's not like my parents care, but Sam's parents…they'll care," she finished in a small voice.

"And you think they're not going to be able to understand…or accept that Sam made this decision for his career?"

"I just think they're going to have a few choice words to say, that's all," Quinn shrugged, before adding quietly, "And I want them to like me, duh,"

"They'll love you," Tina said reassuringly, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. "But tell me more about this movie! The director's good? Who else is cast so far?"

Quinn immediately smiled at the mention of her newest project. Resting her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in the palm of her hand, she bit her lip in excitement. "The director's amazing. Keith Powell won at Sundance and TIFF last year, so he's really on the rise. There's just…one little thing I haven't told everybody yet," Quinn groaned softly, remembering the phone call she had had with Santana earlier in the day.

"Is it being naked on camera? Because that's not in your contract," Tina chuckled.

"No, it's not that. It's…filming locations,"

"Hawaii?"

"I wish," she rolled her eyes, wringing her hands together. "The thing is, we start filming in two weeks…in Nashville,"

Tina wrinkled her nose, a puzzled expression etched across her pretty features. "Nashville? I thought you'd be in Vancouver. I mean, for an indie film, it makes more…oh!" her hands flew to her open mouth in sudden realization. "Does Sam know?"

"No, he doesn't. I only found out after I left his house this morning and…I'm going to be gone for three months," Quinn breathed out.

"Meaning…?"

Quinn sighed, the sudden weight of the decision finally bearing on her shoulders. There were several options, but the very idea that they even had to make a decision for something in the future (even if it wasn't real), just didn't seem fair. A month ago, Quinn would have never agreed to a PR relationship, especially with an entitled, arrogant, musician like Sam Evans. But now, she found herself…actually caring about him. It was hard not to – Sam was much newer to the fame game and even though he was exceptional at tricking the media and the paparazzi, he was still somewhat of a loose cannon. And Quinn wasn't stupid, the boy was gorgeous. She'd have been blind not to notice that. All the time they had spent together – hating each other, tolerating each other, and finding some happy balance – showed her who he really was, underneath the image he had created for himself. Sam was real, honest, and fun, traits that she was certain she lacked.

"Meaning the world is already wondering whether we'll stay together or fall apart," Quinn said softly.

* * *

The next night, Sam let his fingers fall across the strings of his acoustic guitar, trying out different chords in an attempt to create a melody he could use for a new song. Across the room, Finn and Artie were busy working out the drums and Puck was stretched on a couch, taking a nap. It had been a particularly long day, filled with recording hours and hours of vocals, music, and back-ups for the new album – they were all exhausted. And save for Sam's occasional strumming and humming, the spacious recording studio was fairly quiet – until Mike Chang barged in.

"So, is this for real?" he demanded, holding out his BlackBerry in front of Sam's face. Strumming one last note on his guitar, Sam brought his head up so it was level with the phone.

"What is that?"

"Read, Sam,"

"It's a text from Santana, Mike," he mocked, tugging at his hair. "You're going to explain it to me anyway, so just go ahead and do it,"

Mike frowned, sitting down next to his friend and turning to face him. "I was in the middle of booking an appearance for you and Quinn in Vegas," he started.

"That's awesome," Sam grinned, his eyes lighting up. "When do we leave? It has to be next week, though. There's no way I'm letting Stacy tag along to Vegas,"

"Nobody's going to Vegas, we had to cancel," Mike sighed dejectedly. "Because Quinn will have started shooting by then,"

"Who's Quinn shooting?" Finn interrupted, ripping off the headphones he was wearing.

"Her movie, you idiot," Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, so what? She has a couple of days off, right? I'm sure she can make it to Vegas for a night event," he shrugged.

"Well, she won't be in LA," Mike said. "She'll be in Nashville. For three months," he added hesitantly, wincing when he saw Sam's features tighten. He gripped the neck of his guitar forcefully, before letting out a deep breath.

"She didn't mention that. Three months?"

"I guess that's how long it takes to film a great movie," Mike chuckled weakly.

"That's…a long time," Sam observed, leaning back against the couch, his eyes clouding over with thought. He glanced over at Mike, who – for the first time in a long time – didn't have his eyes or fingers glued to his cell phone. They shared a look that conveyed much more than words and Sam knew that Mike understood. How it had happened, he wasn't quite sure. He couldn't pinpoint a specific time frame, but he knew the signs all too well. Somehow, without ever meaning to, Sam had grown to rely on Quinn Fabray. And that in itself was something big, because Sam Evans never wanted to rely on anybody but his family, his manager, and his publicist.

But as he pushed his hand through his hair and discarded his guitar to the side, Sam knew that somewhere in the middle of faking their relationship, he had come to depend on Quinn. She was a lot more experienced with Hollywood types, she took care of him without question, and although he never would've admitted it a month ago, Sam genuinely liked her company. She was funny and smart and witty and she wasn't afraid to laugh at herself. And he knew all that because he honestly didn't think she was uptight anymore – somehow, things had changed between them, slowly, but surely.

"What's the big deal? So she goes away for 3 months, which means you're free from faking the relationship for a while, right? You can play the field again," Puck, who had woken up from his nap the minute Mike came into the room, spoke up. Sam shot him a glare.

"Actually, that'd be bad, wouldn't it? The public wouldn't like you getting photographed with other girls if you're supposed to be dating Hollywood's sweetheart," Rory pointed out, earning an approving nod from Mike.

"The Irish guy's right," Mike joked. "We need to sit down with Santana and Quinn and Tina to talk about what the next step is,"

"Mike, my mom and Stacy fly in tomorrow. If you don't mind, I'd just rather deal with it after they head back," Sam stood up to place his guitar back on its stand in the corner of the studio.

"You could go back with them, you know. Hang out in Nashville, be there when Quinn starts shooting," Artie suggested.

"Stop," Mike stood up, crossing his arms defiantly. "We're not talking options right now, alright? I'll set up the meeting after your family heads back and we'll talk about it then," he said in his most managerial voice. "In the meantime, keep working on the album – the label loves everything you've sent them so far,"

"Great," Sam said, his voice barely audible. Instead, he was hovering in the corner of the studio, his fingers clasped around the neck of another acoustic guitar – the very first one he had ever received.

"And we try to prepare for your mom and Stace. We're still not telling them the truth about you and Quinn?" Mike asked, his attention already diverted back to his cell phone. There was a beat of silence as all eyes focused on Sam, awaiting his response. For the briefest of moments, the blonde opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then shrunk back.

Instead, he mumbled his agreement softly, in a voice Mike recognized was not his normal tone. It caused Mike to rip his gaze away from his phone and look up, to find Sam with a puzzled expression on his face. They shared another look, this one came in the form of a question from Mike.

All he received was a curt nod, before Sam picked up the guitar and walked out of the recording studio.


	8. Chapter 7: Just One Kiss

**Hey, y'all! :) Okay, first off, thanks so much for all the feedback I'm getting - it's great as a writer (even if it's just fanfiction) to know what other people think of the words you write, so it's always appreciated no matter what. :) **

**Anyway, this is chapter 7! I know how I want this plot to play out (which is something I can't really say for a lot of my past fics), so I'm excited to get there - definitely won't be abandoning it, I promise. It's just the wait in between chapters is long, but I have fun writing them! Anyway. Last chapter you saw Sam start to fall a little bit for Quinn and you'll see it more here with his family being in town. :)**

**Enjoy, read, and please review! Xoxo.**

**Obviously, I don't own Glee or its characters. If I did, Quinn would've been around for the Men of McKinley High Calendar. :P**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Just One Kiss**

"Your mom eats brie, right?"

"Quinn, will you relax?"

"No," she replied absentmindedly, arranging the crackers on the plate for the hundredth time. "How are you not nervous?" Throwing her hands up in frustration, she turned to face Sam, who was in the middle of taking a sip of his beer.

"Because it's my mom and my little sister," he shrugged, pushing himself off the kitchen counter to stand next to her. "You're freaking out,"

She glared up at him, her arms crossed. "Of _course_ I'm freaking out! I don't know how you aren't!" Quinn cried. "Can't we just tell them? If we come clean about this whole arrangement, it'll be so much easier,"

"As much as I'm flattered that you don't want to be my fake girlfriend anymore…" he started, rolling his eyes. "Believe me; it's easier to pretend, okay? They don't totally understand the whole Hollywood side of the job,"

"I get that, I do," Quinn sighed. "But with everything coming at us in the next few weeks and that stupid big decision we have to make…it just seems a little sucky that we still have to lie to your family,"

"You mean whether or not we're going to keep up our arrangement or break it off?" Sam's eyebrows knitted together in thought.

"It's not going to be easy, you know. We have to think of how each option is going to affect our careers,"

"Right," Sam nodded, wincing slightly at Quinn's insistence that everything had to come to an end at some point. If he was being completely honest with himself, a part of him wanted to keep dating Quinn – whether it was for the public or for him, he hadn't quite decided that part yet. "Look, let's just get through these next four days without killing anybody and then we'll figure out the rest, okay?"

Quinn sighed, obviously defeated. She looked up at Sam and without meaning to, found herself lost in his bright green eyes. The corner of his lips turned upwards in a slow, sexy smile and Quinn felt her heart pound against her ribcage. It was strange, how just a month ago, she would've hated to be so close to Sam. "Okay," Quinn sighed, nodding her head.

"Okay," he pulled her in for a hug and she breathed him in, feeling her spirits fall slightly when he let her go. Suddenly, before either of them could say anything else, the doorbell rang and Sam cursed under his breath. "Well, that's them," he shrugged. Taking hold of her hand, he gripped it tightly and guided them towards the front door.

Quinn had seen pictures of Mary Evans before – it was hard not to, especially when Sam's LA house was so family-oriented. There were framed photographs of his parents, his brothers and sisters, and Tennessee scattered everywhere and he was never one to shy away from telling her stories about life back in Nashville. Quinn knew that Mary Evans had once been Mary Henderson, a Southern belle born and raised in Tennessee. She had met Sam's father, Dwight, at a party thrown by his college football team and by the time the night was over, they were in love. It made Quinn's heart melt every time she thought about it – a part of her felt like it was exactly the way movies were made.

But seeing Mary Evans up close and personal, face to face, was something else completely. She was blonde and beautiful, classy and elegant (evidenced by the string of pearls around her neck), and just the right combination of steely determination, sass, and motherly comfort. Standing in the doorway, a satchel slung over her shoulder and dressed in a bright sundress, Mary Evans was the true epitome of a Southern belle. And next to her, Quinn noticed, was a bouncing preteen, who was her exact mirror image. Sam invited them all in and within seconds, Mrs. Evans stood in the foyer, examining her beloved son.

"Sam," her voice sounded like bells, as she held out her arms to him for a hug. "I can't believe how tall you've gotten! And what's this scratchy thing on your face?" Mrs. Evans stepped back, holding her son's shoulders, the look on her shocked face causing Quinn to force back her laughter.

"Sorry, mom. Forgot to shave," he shrugged, his lips curling into a lopsided smile. "Stace, you're not going to give your big brother a hug?" Sam grinned, holding his arms out to the girl who stood beside his mother. She was all gangly limbs and awkward posture, with long, straight blonde hair and bright green eyes. She didn't have Sam's signature mouth, but the way she pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose reminded Quinn exactly of Sam.

"Hey, rockstar," Stacy teased, wrapping her arms around her brother and snuggling into his side. He dropped a kiss on her head and Quinn smiled, her heart beating twice as fast – there was something to be said watching a man like Sam Evans be sweet to his family. "Is that…?" Stacy whispered softly, under her breath. Sam chuckled and nodded, ruffling her hair slightly.

"Mom, Stace, this is Quinn Fabray," he announced.

Quinn waved awkwardly, clearing her throat before she spoke. "It's so nice to finally meet both of you – Sam's told me so much about his family," she said in a steady, even voice – despite the fact that she was shaking from her nerves. She made a move to shake Mrs. Evans' hand, but before she could even step forward, Mrs. Evans wrapped her arms around her shoulders and pulled her in for a bone-crushing hug.

"We're so happy to meet you! We honestly never thought Sam would ever settle down! Imagine my surprise when I heard he found a girl who he loves so much! Thank the Lord!"

Quinn patted Mrs. Evans' back awkwardly, thinking the exact same thing she knew Sam was thinking – if his raised eyebrows and perplexed expression was any sort of indication. It was that if they hadn't been trapped in the most tangled web of lies, the whole thing would've been downright hilarious.

* * *

"So, how's it going so far?" Santana's voice came through on the speakerphone clearly; the mischievous smirk evident in her tone. Quinn and Sam rolled their eyes in unison, huddled over the phone.

"Don't laugh, Lopez. I'm _lying_ to my family, okay? Not cool," Sam whispered anxiously. "My mother is out there right now, practically _planning _our wedding!" he hissed.

There was a beat of silence, before Santana drew a breath and said, "Actually, that's not a bad idea. The public loves you so much that getting married is probably the next logical step…"

"Santana!" Quinn cried in a low voice, hoping the Evanses couldn't hear their conversation through the giant oak door that separated them. "Who cares if the public loves us, because we don't even love each other!"

"Ouch, Quinn, way to kick a guy when he's already down," Sam pouted.

"Shut up," she rolled her eyes, punching him softly in the arm.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Santana commented, obviously bored. "So your mom thinks you're perfect for each other. Isn't that a good thing?"

Sam groaned, tugging at his blonde hair forcefully in frustration. "We thought she'd be pissed, okay? We were banking on her getting angry that I didn't tell her and all of a sudden, she's set on like, bringing Quinn back to Nashville and it's just –"

"So go with her to Nashville," Santana interrupted.

"_Santana_," Quinn's voice came out strangled.

"Listen, you're both making way too big of a deal out of this," the Latina snapped, her tone indicating she was already impatient and over the conversation. "Just don't let your mom start planning a wedding or even start _talking_ about a wedding without my consent – other than that, you're safe. So quit whining,"

Quinn took a deep breath and glanced over at Sam, who seemed to be processing his publicist's words in his head. They shared a look, one that had become commonplace between them. Quinn knew he hated lying to his parents, regardless of the fact that it was his idea to keep their arrangement a secret. Neither of them had expected Mary Evans to be completely on board with Quinn as a girlfriend – after all, Sam was her first son and his constant string of one night stands did little to dispute the fact that he was a notorious player.

"Okay, we'll…deal with it," Sam sighed dejectedly.

"Great!" Santana quipped. "I've got to run, give my best to Mama Evans and Stace – I'll see them tomorrow night at dinner,"

"Bye, San," Quinn reached forward to end the call, but Santana's sudden shrieks stopped her. "What the hell?"

"Sorry, I just remembered, since I have you both here and all. Quinn, you have an appearance at the Nexus Awards this Sunday night and Sam, you have the giving ceremony at the Grove during the day. Separate appearances," she rattled off.

"Alright,"

There was a brief moment of silence, before they heard Santana draw in her breath and say, "And don't forget about our meeting scheduled for the end of next week. About your…decision. Whether or not we continue with this or let it go,"

"Got it. Bye," Sam snapped, pressing the off button on the phone with a little more force than necessary. He turned to glance at Quinn, who was chewing on her lower lip, her brows furrowed in worry. "You okay?" he asked, his voice coming out shakier than he expected.

"I'm fine," she squeaked.

"Let's just…we'll talk about it next week, okay?" Sam squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "But for now, we've got to survive Hurricane Evans," he chuckled, earning another eye-roll from Quinn. Looking up at him, she grinned widely, before grabbing his hand and guiding them out of the study.

Sam casually slung his arm around her shoulders as they strolled into the spacious kitchen, where Mrs. Evans was busy putting something into the oven. Sitting comfortably on the counter, Stacy was dipping Doritos into some sort of dip and whistling softly to the country song blaring on the radio. Quinn hesitated, feeling her nerves start to bubble at the bottom of her stomach. She met Mrs. Evans' eyes and smiled – there was something comforting and calming about Sam's mother that she couldn't quite put a finger on. _'Maybe it's because she's nothing like your own mom,' _Quinn thought, smirking to herself.

"You've literally been here less than two hours and you're already cooking?" Sam teased, perching himself on one of the stools surrounding the kitchen island. To Quinn's surprise, he pulled her closer to him, settling her down on his knee. He wrapped an arm around her waist and instinctively, she rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I looked in your fridge and you didn't have any lasagna," Mrs. Evans shrugged, taking a sip of water from her glass. "Although there's a lot more food in there than last time – good to see you're finally taking care of yourself,"

Sam snorted, resting his chin on Quinn's shoulder. "That's not me, it's her," he said.

"I just…" Quinn wriggled slightly, trying to loosen Sam's grip around her waist. "I find it ridiculous that a grown man was trying to live off of beer and cool Ranch Doritos," she retorted, giving Sam a glare.

"It's a balanced diet if you work out!" he protested.

"You're an idiot," Quinn laughed, running her fingers through his disheveled hair affectionately. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam's mom smile approvingly and Stacy lift a corner of her mouth in a tilted grin. Quinn felt a surge of happiness – she was in the Evans' good graces – until she remembered that it was all an act.

The thought stung a little; after all, Quinn never had the perfect family growing up. Her parents lived well and when she turned 13, they decided she was well off without them, too. She had grown up in a pretty house in the nicer parts of Lima, but she was always left alone – Judy and Russell Fabray were too busy keeping up appearances at the local country club to actually parent her. Quinn would spend days on end fantasizing about being a part of a real family, one that sat down to dinner and talked about their days and actually cared about each other. Seeing the loving warmth in Mrs. Evans' eyes had reminded Quinn of that – of how much she longed to be a part of a family. And for the briefest of seconds, she had let herself wonder what it'd be like to be part of the Evans family.

"So, are we doing anything interesting today or do y'all just hide out from the paparazzi in your huge mansion?" Stacy quipped, hopping off the counter and sending a spray of chip crumbs all over the floor. "Not that I mind either way – your house is way cool," she added, glancing over at her older brother, who scoffed in response.

"Are you tired from the flight? Is there anything in particular you want to do?" Quinn asked, untangling herself from Sam's arms and settling into her own seat.

"Disneyland," Stacy grinned. "Any chance y'all can use your star power to get us some all-access passes?" she teased, her Southern twang much stronger than her brother's.

"Stacy!" Mrs. Evans cried, hitting her lightly with the dish rag she was holding. Her daughter just shrugged in response, her green eyes sparkling.

Quinn giggled, leaning forward on the kitchen counter, as if she was letting Stacy in on a secret. In a whisper, she said, "I could totally hook that up for you,"

"Awesome!" Stacy pumped her fist in the air excitedly. "God, I love you already!" she cried, rounding the counter to throw her arms around Quinn.

Sam shook his head, suppressing his laughter – Quinn and Stacy could've been sisters in a past life. He knew Quinn had had some anxiety over whether or not his family would like her and Sam didn't want to admit it, but he had been worried, too. It had always been important that whoever he ended up with would fit in with his tight-knit family, but he hadn't expected his family to accept Quinn as easily. She was Hollywood personified and on all accounts, everything his mother hated about show business. But as Sam reached over the counter to grab an apple, he locked eyes with his mom and a look passed between them that conveyed everything he needed to know – not only did she approve and love Quinn Fabray…but if Sam did anything to screw it up, he would have to answer to his mother's wrath.

* * *

On Friday night, Sam led his mom and sister up the stairs and into Lola's, a well-established, family-run restaurant nestled in a slightly more secluded area of the hills. As he meandered through the crowded tables, he was pleased to notice that nobody recognized who he was – it was family night and he didn't feel like tending to fans. A jazz track played softly through the restaurant's speakers and as Sam guided his family towards the private room at the back, just as Quinn instructed him to, he could make out several familiar voices – growing louder and louder with each step he took. It was a stark contrast to the fairly quiet restaurant and before he could make a move to pull open the door, it flung back to reveal a flustered Quinn Fabray.

"Hey! You guys made it!" she said breathlessly, tucking back a strand of hair that had fallen out of place. She hugged Mrs. Evans and Stacy, who both had bewildered looks on their faces, and kissed Sam on the cheek, before pulling them all inside and closing the door – letting Sam see exactly why there had been so much noise coming from their private room.

When he had woken up earlier that day, he realized he had completely forgotten about making dinner plans. Quinn had graciously offered her assistance and he had told her to make it small – just the Evans family and Quinn, of course. What Sam didn't know was that she had somehow managed to wrangle all their friends into one room – something completely unheard of in their circles, considering everybody's schedules were all packed with meetings, photo shoots, classes, and who knew what else. But as he looked around the spacious room, taken up by a large dining table and several smaller tables laden with food, he saw nearly everybody who mattered to both him and Quinn.

Puck and Artie were pouring drinks for Artie, Kurt, and Blaine. At one end of the dining table, Mike and Tina were huddled close, their heads bent over an iPad. Santana mindlessly stirred her drink, as she listened to Brittany and Mercedes (Sam's backup dancers and singers) trade stories about touring. The biggest surprise of all was seeing Finn with his arm around a small brunette, who was wriggling in her seat from excitement.

"Sam!" she cried, jumping up and launching herself at him. He staggered slightly and a laugh escaped his lips as he hugged her back.

"Hey, Rach!" he chuckled, letting her go. "Sorry, mom, Stace – this is Rachel Berry, Broadway star. And Finn's girlfriend," he smirked, pulling out chairs for his family and for Quinn. There was a slight bustle as everybody scrambled to get in their seats and within seconds, the noise level in the room changed to a soft buzz, as conversations overlapped with one another. "I thought you'd only be back next week?" Sam asked Rachel, who was in front of him, poking a fork at her salad.

"I was, but when Quinn called Finn to invite him for dinner, they sort of came up with the idea to drag me back here," she giggled.

"It was all Quinn's idea. I just mentioned that it sucked that Rachel couldn't be here and the next thing I know, Quinn's on the phone with Rachel's assistant and she's on the next jet out of New York," Finn smiled widely, pressing a kiss to his girlfriend's forehead. They had all been close to each other when they were first starting out in the business and when Sam took Finn on his first tour; Rachel had tagged along for the first few months. It was the second time Sam had let someone in.

"Well, that's just the sweetest story I've ever heard," Mrs. Evans chimed in, the sound of her voice halting all the other conversations in the room. "And you two have been dating for quite some time, haven't you?"

"Since high school," Rachel quipped proudly. "It hasn't been easy, but what relationship is?" Across the table, Santana let out a scoff, hiding her mouth behind her glass. Sam just shook his head and smirked, knowing full well that Rachel always managed to get on Santana's nerves.

"Of course. Sam's father and I started dating in college and even though we both had stable jobs afterwards, it was still difficult. Especially when this one came around," Mrs. Evans patted Sam's head for emphasis, which earned a soft chuckle from his little sister. "But we always knew he was talented, of course. He started singing George Strait before he started talking, I think," she smiled fondly at her son and Sam blushed. His mother kept the conversation going and even though he was trying to concentrate, it was hard to focus on anything when Quinn was sitting right next to him.

He had no idea that having his mom and sister meet the most important people in his life - his other family, so to speak - was something he had always wanted, but somehow, Quinn had known. He stole a quick sideways glance at her and felt his heart ache. She was beautiful, as always, her hair now pulled back in a demure half-up, half-down, the soft waves falling gently over her shoulders. He fought the urge to tuck back a loose strand and kept himself distracted by tapping out a rhythm against his knee with his hand. Suddenly, underneath the table, Sam felt familiar fingers intertwine with his.

"You okay?" she whispered, the volume of her voice low enough just for the two of them.

He cleared his throat and tried his hardest to bring the color in his cheeks down - he already knew Santana was giving them a suspicious look from across the table. "I'm fine," he replied.

"Is the food okay?"

"It's great,"

"Okay," Quinn nodded, taking a delicate sip of her wine. Sam couldn't help but notice the way her fingers curled around the stem, the way her lips looked, pressed against the glass. "I hope everyone's having a good time," she turned back to him, her voice back to her low whisper.

"It's perfect," he squeezed her fingers assuringly. Hidden from view, she squeezed his hand back and they sat, grinning at each other stupidly, before a clap of hands brought them out of their moment. They pulled apart and for a brief second, Sam missed the warmth of Quinn's fingers.

"I'd like to say a few words," Santana stood up slowly, tugging at the hem of her short dress. The whole room fell silent and Sam winced, anticipating what would come next. "To my two most favorite clients and my two most amazing friends - Sam and Quinn. For bringing us all together, for introducing us to new people, and for letting us be a part of your elite circle - a part of your family," she finished, adding the last part with a flourish, raising her glass up and tipping it back. Sam and Quinn both mouthed a 'thank you' to their publicist, knowing Santana needed more than just a sign of gratitude from them - she also needed an answer so she could plan the next step of their careers.

"Y'all really are a cute couple," Stacy commented, causing the rest of the dinner party to chuckle.

"Stace," Sam warned.

"Sam Evans, you should not be ashamed that you're dating such a pretty girl,"

"Stacy, shut _up_," he muttered.

"How about a kiss?" Mrs. Evans piped up and Sam stared at her, shell-shocked.

It wasn't that he didn't want to kiss Quinn - all signs pointed to them having to kiss at some point during their little arrangement. What Sam didn't count on was kissing Quinn with his mom, sister, manager, band members, and everybody else who mattered to him, watching. Did he want to kiss her? Maybe not in the beginning, when she was still uptight and all wound up. But now...well, things were different now. They started being different after the premiere they went to, after she started spending the night on his couch and he'd wake up early and just watch her breathe, while the sunlight caught her hair...

"Should we?"

Quinn's soft voice pulled him out of his daydream and he snapped back to reality, his head turning to face her. She was fidgeting nervously, her eyebrows raised as if asking him a question. Around him, the dinner table had gone quiet, evidently, nobody had bothered to give his mother a reason why they wouldn't kiss. Sam glanced at his mom briefly, who nodded with a big grin on her face, and turned back to Quinn.

"I guess so," he shrugged, chuckling softly to himself.

He leaned towards her, tilting his head a little to the left, as she scooted forward and tucked her hair behind her ears. Sam could feel his heart pounding in anticipation of what was to come and he could see that she was nervous, the way her usually calm eyes clouded over with fear. She stilled his tapping fingers - he hadn't even noticed he was doing it - and intertwined their fingers again. The touch of her skin on his made him relax and he breathed deeply, inching closer and closer towards her.

It felt like seconds turned into minutes and then into hours, as the whole room (namely Sam and Quinn's closest friends who knew about the real nature of their relationship) held their breath. They watched, as Sam pressed his lips sweetly against Quinn's, watched as he instinctively cradled her head in his hands, watched as she dug her nails softly into his shoulder. Quinn tasted like cherries and wine, and the smell of her strawberry-scented hair made Sam feel dazed, as he caught her top lip between his own and pulled her closer.

They broke apart, eventually, but not before a look they shared - a look so raw and real that Sam had no choice but to finally admit it to himself.

There was a big possibility that he was falling for Quinn Fabray.


	9. Chapter 8: A Little Less Conversation

**Chapter 8! :) Thanks to everybody who's reviewed this thing so far. Last time, we saw a sweet kiss between Quinn and Sam (squee!) and this chapter sees a bit more development for both characters - individually and together. Sometimes, I can ramble a little in my fics, so please let me know if there's anything that needs any clearing up!**

**Now, a lot of you have been asking (and some have been demanding) that I update this fic faster. Unfortunately, I can't promise y'all faster updates - sorry to say, but I do have a full time job and a life that needs living, but I am updating as much as I can and trying to get each chapter to sound right before I put it up. I know where I want this fic to go and really, at this point, that's all I can guarantee. :) **

**Thanks for understanding and it'd be awesome if you could leave a little review after you read this. :)**

**I do not own Glee. If I did...it would've been Quinn and Sam in the hotel room, not Quinn and Santana. Wanky. :P**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 8: A Little Less Conversation**

He squinted, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the onset of bright lights. In front of him, a sea of people filled the courtyard and in the near distance, he spotted security guards trying to fend off screaming girls, who were desperately pushing past them to get closer. Beside him, a tall, good-looking, ridiculously tan male stood, speaking rapidly into the microphone he held in his hand, with a permanently cheesy grin plastered across his face. They had been doing the interview for the past twenty minutes and Sam figured the host, Brian Dunne, would've finished by now. Instead, he kept going on and on and despite the fact that he was tired and wanted to spend time with his mom and sister before their flight home later that day, Sam knew he'd have to keep up appearances.

"Let's talk a little bit about your most recent project," Brian started.

"Oh, my album's coming along great. But you know, I just really wanted to take my time with this one, really put in a lot of thought and care and just more of me in it. I know I took a break for a while and my fans were sort of wondering where I was, but I've just been living life so I could have something to write about," Sam chuckled.

"Well, I'm sure you've been doing a lot of living and with a certain blonde actress…" Brian trailed off. Sam stiffened, the realization dawning on him that this was the first time he had gotten asked about the relationship on his own. "We've seen the pictures and you guys make a beautiful couple, so what can you tell us?"

Without letting his guard down once, Sam smiled secretively. He knew he must have looked calm and collected on the outside, but inside, his heart was pounding a mile a minute. Gripping the microphone tightly, he answered, "You know, I'm in a really good place right now and I've got some really amazing people in my life, some I've just met and some I've known for a while,"

"Are things getting serious between the two of you?"

"We're taking things slow," he snapped.

"Well, everybody's just buzzing about you guys, so how does it feel being one half of Young Hollywood's hottest couple?" Brian gestured towards the screen, where several pictures of Sam and Quinn kept popping up, like a slideshow. Sam noticed the way Brian lingered at a picture of a Quinn, longer than was necessary, and he immediately felt his fingers curl into fists.

"Pictures are worth a thousand words, I guess," he forced himself to say - something in the way Brian had asked about their relationship had definitely rubbed him the wrong way.

"She's certainly beautiful – how did you guys meet?"

"Through our public –" he started, before realizing exactly what was going to fall out of his mouth. He pulled his lips between his teeth and did his best to avoid Santana and Mike's warning glares that he knew were being thrown his way. "Through some mutual friends,"

Brian raised an eyebrow skeptically at Sam, wondering how someone's attitude could change so drastically in a matter of seconds. Thankfully, he caught the hint and quickly wrapped up the rest of the interview, allowing Sam to take his time meandering through the crowd of fans, before meeting up again with his family, Santana, and Mike. His bodyguard insisted they were safer in the car and in just a matter of seconds; they were all piled into the back of a big, black, SUV. Sam leaned back into the leather, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and gazing outside the heavily tinted windows. He saw fan after fan, waving their arms and holding up posters and even though they couldn't see him, Sam gave them a tiny wave anyway.

"Is it that crazy everywhere you go?" Stacy asked, leaning forward from the seat behind him. She was stuck in between Santana and Mike, both of whom were on their phones.

Sam craned his head back to face his little sister. "Sometimes," he shrugged. "Only if I'm doing an event – it's usually pretty quiet when I go get coffee or something. Unless Quinn's with me,"

"Geez, that's nuts," Stacy exhaled, leaning back in her seat.

"Speaking of Quinn…nice save on the questions, Sammy," Santana chimed in, her eyebrows raised. "You looked like you were going to punch Brian in the face," she scoffed.

"Yeah, well, did you see the way he was looking at her?" Sam replied, after several moments of silence filled the car. He knew he was being unreasonable and he was acting like a brat, but he hadn't liked Brian at all – especially not when he started digging about his personal life.

"He was doing his job, Sam," Mike shook his head disapprovingly, his tone indicating he was in full manager mode. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I get it, okay?" he snapped, immediately putting an end to the conversation. Looking out the tinted windows, he let out a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He could feel his mom's worried gaze on him and he knew Santana and Mike were both tired of his attitude that day, but Sam couldn't help himself.

Even before the PR relationship, he hated answering personal questions. Not once did he ever say he liked dating lots of girls – that was an idea everybody else came up with on their own. And now that he was 'dating' Quinn, the questions seemed far too personal for him to take. He knew there was a part of him that belonged to the public and to his fans, but having to answer questions about who he was dating was just downright uncomfortable.

Lost in his thoughts, Sam didn't even notice when the car pulled into his driveway. They piled out, his mom and Stacy going inside with his bodyguard to avoid the crowd of paparazzi that was beginning to form outside his gates. Meanwhile, Sam shoved his hands in his pockets and looked over at his manager and publicist, who were both still glued to their phones.

"Sorry about today, guys. I mean it," he apologized, with a heavy sigh. Despite his mini tantrum in the car earlier, Sam knew it wasn't their fault the interviewer had been nosy.

Santana and Mike both stopped tapping at their phones and looked up, their expressions immediately softening. "It's not your fault, Sammy," Santana hugged him briefly. "Brian Dunne has always been an idiot," she added.

"Just remember to smile next time," Mike chuckled, squeezing his friend's shoulder comfortingly. "I've got to run – I'll call you later about some stuff coming up," he waved, walking towards his own car.

"Tell Tina I said hi!" Sam called out, chuckling to himself. Santana shook her head, smiling.

"I've got to run to Quinn's and get her prepped for the awards tonight. Everything's okay with your family heading back home?"

"Yeah, their flight's not until later, so they're packing all day. The car's here already," he shrugged.

"Alright, well, give them my love," Santana leaned over and gave him another quick hug. "And really, don't worry about the interview. If anything, you came off as overprotective and that's not bad," she said. With another quick wave, she stepped into her car and quickly sped out of the driveway, leaving Sam to stare up at his big house.

With five bedrooms, a personal gym, a tricked-out basement, and a music studio, the place sometimes felt too big for just him and Puck to live in. Sam had insisted on getting a cozy three-bedroom house at first, but when his first tour sold out in two minutes, everybody convinced him that a bigger, pricier house was better for him. _'Better for what, exactly?'_ he thought bitterly, making his way inside. Half the time, his so-called roommate was either out with his other guitarist friends, trying to impress some girl he barely knew, or he was hanging out with his brother, Jake, who had recently moved to the city. Most of the time, the house was used as a place to hang out (or crash) for the guys in his band. In the early days, it was the ultimate party house. But lately, all Sam did was hang out in his studio, fine-tuning his sound for the next album. It seemed ridiculous to have rooms that nobody had ever set foot in.

It wasn't that Sam hated the house – after all, it was a mark, a representation of how far he had come. But after the day he had just had, Sam would've given it all up if it meant he could keep his privacy.

"Hey, there you are! Wanna watch this with me?" his little sister tucked her legs underneath herself, gesturing towards the TV, where a Lakers game was playing.

"Sure, Stace," he smiled softly, settling down in the comfortable couch next to her. "You still playing basketball at school?"

"Yeah!" her eyes grew bright and she lit up, turning to face her older brother. "I'm getting really good, too. Coach Henderson says I'm a shoo-in for varsity when I get to high school, but I don't want to commit to anything yet,"

"Well, you're a talented kid – there's going to be a lot of things you'll be great at,"

"I hope so. Stevie thinks I suck at guitar, but he stinks at the drums, so I guess it evens out," she sighed and Sam couldn't help chuckling at the image of his younger siblings arguing – it was something he missed terribly, he realized. "I think you got all the musical genes in the family," she added, her nose wrinkling in thought.

"That's not true!" Sam laughed.

"Have you heard me on the guitar? My fingers aren't long enough. And Stevie once hit daddy in the face with a drumstick," she deadpanned. "It's okay, though. Stevie's great with school and I'm great with basketball. And maybe cheerleading," she added.

"You're a cheerleader? Since when?"

"Well…I'm not a cheerleader _yet_," she winced. "But Quinn was showing me some of her high school pictures and like…did you know she was a cheerleader? And prom queen?"

"Figures," Sam snorted.

"She's really pretty, don't you think?" Stacy asked, her eyes wide with curiosity. Sam glanced down at his little sister, smirking.

"Yeah, Stace. That's why I'm dating her," he replied sarcastically.

Stacy stuck her tongue out at her brother playfully, before falling silent and focusing on the TV. After several minutes, she turned back to look at Sam. "You're not going to hurt her, right?" she asked suddenly.

He snapped his head back to his little sister, surprise etched across his features. "What makes you think I would?"

"Because you're…you're _you_," she replied simply.

"What's supposed to mean?"

"It means I read the papers, genius," Stacy smirked. "Before Quinn came into the picture, you were the ultimate jerk – dating random girls and doing god knows what else. Why do you think mom's so happy to see you with Quinn? You're finally settling down, with a girl who has her own career, her own goals, and her own life – she's not a gold-digger and she's not with you just because you're famous," she took a deep breath, before adding, "She's actually way more famous than you are, anyway,"

"Thanks," Sam chuckled. "So you guys really like Quinn, huh?"

"You don't?" Stacy asked, her eyes wide. "She's perfect, Sammy. You're not going to break up with her, are you?"

"I don't know if that's really up to me, Stace," he shrugged. "I like her, a lot. I think…" Sam paused, trying to get his thoughts organized. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

"What is it?" Stacy asked, leaning forward.

"I think I could…if I'm not already, that is…really fall for her,"

* * *

Quinn pressed her lips together, sealing in her second coat of lipstick, and snapped her compact shut. Tucking it safely into her little clutch, she smoothed out her sparkling dress and cocked her head, examining her best friend-slash-personal assistant seated in front of her.

"You look beautiful, stop fidgeting," she scolded.

"I could say the same for you," Tina shot back, fluffing out her long, black hair. She was dressed in something glitzier, her normal uniform of black skirts and sweaters replaced with a glittering top and a classic pair of jeans. "I'm so _nervous_,"

Quinn chuckled, smiling. "Tee, it's just a date. You've been on dates before,"

"Correction – I've been on dates with guys who wanted to get to you," Tina sighed, sinking her head back into the leather seat. "Mike's different. He doesn't treat me like I know nothing about the industry,"

"That's great, Tee. And I really like Mike, he's a great guy," Quinn said. "Did you know he and Sam have been best friends since they were little? It's so weird to think of them as little boys…Sam said Mike used to make them try all sorts of science experiments,"

"And that's how Mike got that scar above his eye, I've heard that story," Tina giggled. "Sam told you about that? Isn't that kind of…personal? For a PR relationship, I mean,"

Quinn hesitated. "I guess? Then again, I don't really know what is or isn't normal in this kind of situation, either," she laughed, but it came out dry and unfamiliar on her lips.

"Speaking of this situation…"

Quinn opened her mouth to retaliate, but before she could say anything, her phone rang. Swiftly pulling it out of her clutch and recognizing the number, she held up a finger to Tina and gave her another warning look, before answering the phone.

"Hey, Will,"

"Q? Great, you're not on the carpet yet," Will Schuester, Quinn's constantly frazzled and brilliant agent, spoke quickly – as if the end of each word had to catch up with the next.

"Nope, still in the limo. We're stuck in traffic, I think,"

"Great, great! Listen, there's been a change of plans. You know how you're scheduled to leave LA at the end of the week?"

"For Nashville, yeah," Quinn nodded.

"Well, they need you for some pre-production shots and an earlier table read," Will rattled off. "You leave Tuesday night,"

"But…that's in like, two days!" Quinn panicked. "I have to pack and I have meetings and…oh God, I have meetings," she exhaled, flopping back against her seat.

"So move some stuff around. Look, I'm sure Tina can get it done and if you need help, just call my office. First impressions count. I've gotta run, but I'll see you at the airport on Tuesday night – I'm emailing your flight details to you," Will said hurriedly, before clicking off, leaving Quinn to stare confusedly at her phone.

"I'm leaving town in two days," she mumbled.

"And…done," Tina said, turning her phone around so she could show Quinn the screen. "I messaged Mike, Santana, and Sam about the date change and they're free tomorrow afternoon, around 1. Sounds good?"

"Yeah, okay," Quinn shrugged, her eyes glassed over in thought. "I'm just…trying to process," she muttered. "Sam and I haven't really talked about what to do; we figured we had the whole week,"

"Well, I'm sure we can just talk about it tomorrow," Tina shrugged. "Oh, we're here,"

The car stopped and Tina moved forward to open the door, but Quinn's hand covered her own. "Take the car tonight. You and Mike deserve it, after everything you've done for me. And Sam,"

"That's really sweet, Quinn, but how are you going to get home?"

"I'll figure it out. There are always rentals outside of these things, but I'll let you know if I need any help," Quinn straightened, turning her clutch in her hands. "Just…go have fun," she smiled, leaning over to give Tina a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, before opening the door and stepping out. The camera flashes blinded her momentarily, but she took a deep breath, mumbled a quick prayer to herself, and plastered on a smile.

Several hours later, Quinn closed the rental car door shut, shaking out her tired arms. It had been a fun awards show, honoring the 'Next Big Thing' in television, but she had hugged and shook hands and conversed with so many people that it was all starting to blur into one fuzzy, shaky memory. Looking up at her house, she let out a deep breath. When she had first bought her house, it seemed too big and scary. Tucked away in the more isolated parts of the Hollywood Hills, it used to be dark and empty, resembling an abandoned house – not the home of a TV star. Slowly, but surely, as she gained traction in the business, she started redecorating. Weeds and ominous gates were replaced by cozy fireplaces and hundreds of flowers. When Tina moved in, they worked on creating a gazebo out back, next to her pool, and although Santana kept insisting her that the house was smaller than what was expected of her star status, Quinn didn't care. It was just right for her and Tina, who came and went as she pleased. It was great for lonely nights spent stargazing and more recently (and surprisingly), it was becoming perfect for her and Sam to escape from the crazy world they lived in. They were isolated and lived in a different world here, still untouched and hidden from the paparazzi - it was something she hoped wouldn't change.

"Hey," the deep, familiar voice startled her slightly and she blinked, focusing her attention on the figure in front of her. There, leaning against the doorway with both hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, was Sam. His hair was a little mussed, his eyes bright, and the corners of his lips lifted into an easygoing smile. Quinn felt her heart beat faster and she prayed that he couldn't hear it, because whatever it was that had happened between them – it wasn't supposed to happen.

"Hi," she grinned, making her way towards him. Her footsteps quickened as she hurried up the steps and Sam caught her by the waist as she stumbled slightly over the top step. Suppressing the giggle that was about to escape her mouth, Quinn shook her hair out of her eyes and looked up at Sam. "How'd you get in?"

"Spare key under your doormat. You really shouldn't keep a key there, you know. Robbers, trespassers, paparazzi…" Sam warned, taking a seat at the kitchen island.

"You're too paranoid," Quinn shook her head, kicking off her heels into a corner of the room. "I need something to drink," she sighed, heading for the makeshift bar. "Want anything?"

"I was actually hoping we could talk,"

"We can't talk and drink at the same time?" Quinn smirked, grabbing a bottle of tequila and whiskey. Cradling two empty glasses in her left arm, she motioned for Sam to join her in the living room. She settled down into the couch and smiled wordlessly when he took a seat next to her.

"Here," he handed her a drink and she took a sip, feeling the initial burn of the liquid as it slid down her throat. "So, we're meeting Santana tomorrow,"

"That we are," Quinn nodded, her eyes coasting over his back, watching his shoulders tense. "Did your mom and Stacy get to the airport okay?"

"Yeah, they wanted me to thank you. For the present," Sam drew in a deep breath. "You didn't have to upgrade them, you know. It's like, a 3 hour flight," he chuckled, turning his head to look back at her. She was clutching her glass in her hand and resting her lips on the rim, a faraway look in her eyes.

"They deserve the best," she shrugged.

"How was the show tonight?"

"It was okay," Quinn took another sip and scooted forward on the couch, facing Sam directly. "I got asked if you were alright. Something about the Grove interview?"

Sam's grip on his glass tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Yeah, I kind of screwed up," he sighed, setting his drink on the coffee table. "Brian Dunne asked me about us and I just froze. Plus, the guy's kind of an ass," he added. Quinn giggled, nudging his shoulder with hers.

"Don't worry about it," she murmured.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of them and as Sam leaned back into the couch, Quinn couldn't help but steal a sideways glance at him. His hair fell in soft wisps over his forehead, practically begging to be brushed away, and his usually calm, easygoing demeanor was replaced by a stiffer and more anxious stance. _'He's worried about something,' _Quinn thought.

"The meeting tomorrow," he blurted out suddenly, as if reading her mind. "What do we do?"

Quinn took a deep breath. A part of her - a big part - wanted to keep the relationship going. It didn't bother her that it was all for show, because somewhere along the way, if she was being honest with herself, something had shifted in their dynamic together. Where she once thought Sam was arrogant and affected by fame, she knew now that it was just a part he played, a persona he had created to guide him through the rougher sides of the business. It was like a journey, she realized. She was fascinated in learning all the different parts of him and to end it all now would just mean that she wouldn't have the chance to keep trying to understand who he was.

"We go in and we figure it out," she sighed. "I know that's not the answer you want, but it's the only thing we can do,"

"That's not concrete. What do _you_ want?" Sam asked, locking eyes with her. The moment stole her breath and she was struck with the realization that nobody had asked her that in a long, long time. She hesitated, before answering him with a shrug of her shoulders. "Quinn, we're doing this for our careers, right?"

"Yes," she replied in a small voice, watching him stand up and round the coffee table to face her.

"And I think it worked out pretty well. I mean, the media loves it and our fans love it. As stupidly shallow as it sounds, it works," Sam ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the old dresser that was pushed up against the wall. "I just think that with this next decision, we do it for ourselves. If we keep going and our hearts aren't really in it, then it'll hurt us and our…friendship," he said, trying to choose his words carefully.

Quinn smiled up at him. "You're sweet, you know that?"

"Duh,"

"No, I'm serious," she shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. She stood up, abandoning her drink, and walked over to him, her arms crossed. "When Tina told me our meeting had been pushed up, I freaked out. I didn't know what I wanted, what you wanted, how it'd affect our careers and our fans, and what the media would think…" she trailed off. "But with you, it's just so simple,"

"Because it is," he shrugged, taking a step towards her. "If we keep up with this, it'll be a full time commitment. You're gonna be in Nashville, so I can't just say that I went to visit you – I actually have to do it. And when my album drops, you'll have to be there at the launch and during the tour, when you're not busy filming," he pointed out.

"And if we end it, we let down our fans, the media's going to have a field day, and we put our careers back on the line. Either way…it's commitment," Quinn whispered. She turned away from him and asked, in a small voice, "What do you want to do?"

Sam sucked in his breath, shifting from one foot to the other, hesitant to answer. Deep in his heart, he knew the exactly what he should say. Sam had made his decision the previous night, on his own, after they kissed in front of their family and friends. He didn't want to keep dating Quinn if it meant they would still be bound by the PR side of things. But he wanted to know her better, understand her better. He wanted the chance to properly let himself fall for her – if he hadn't already.

"You know what?" Quinn asked abruptly, interrupting Sam's thoughts. He looked up and held back a laugh, as he saw her start to pace the length of the room. Her curls had tumbled out of her sophisticated up-do, but her sparkling gown swept the floor as she strode with purposeful steps. "Let's get drunk," she shrugged, looking up at him.

"What?"

"You know, drunk. Let's just drink ourselves into oblivion, skip the damn meeting tomorrow and I can head to Nashville with a wicked hangover," she smiled mischievously, picking up the whiskey bottle and rolling it back and forth between her hands.

"You're nuts, Fabray," Sam shook his head, smiling down at her.

"Perhaps," she shrugged. "But I'm also really, really tired of _thinking_. Everybody wants something from us – Santana wants a decision, your mom wants a wedding, Tina and Mike want…well, each other," Quinn laughed. "I mean, even the media wants us to kiss all the time,"

"I don't really see what's so bad about that," Sam smirked.

"Duh,"

"So you didn't mind kissing me?" he asked, stepping closer.

Quinn stumbled backwards slightly, the forwardness of his question catching her off guard. "W-what?"

"You heard me," his voice fell into a whisper and his fingers brushed gently against her hip, carefully and hesitantly. Sam searched her face, trying to gauge her response and grinned when he saw her mouth fall open at the sudden touch. "We should do it again," he mumbled, inhaling the familiar scent of strawberries that wafted from her hair.

"Kiss?" the word fell out of her mouth involuntarily, in a low whisper. With shaking, uncertain fingers, Quinn reached up and brushed the strands of blonde hair out of his eyes. He nodded curtly, letting his hands explore the length of her torso. "Um…" Quinn stammered, mustering all her strength to not buckle at the knees. The heat between them rose and when she finally met her eyes meet his, all her resolve nearly crumbled to pieces.

Sam anticipated it, planned it, before she did. In one swift motion, he pulled her flush against the length of his body, his other hand tracing the outline of her cheek and jawbones. Leaning down, he lightly brushed his lips against hers, in a near kiss, and rested his forehead against hers. Their eyes searched each other, drank each other in, and for the first time that night, Sam felt some semblance of normalcy – he had always known he would've traded his whole world for privacy, but what he never counted on was that he would've traded it for the girl who was in his arms, too.

Quinn breathed him in, committing him to memory. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a small voice was telling her that it was all too much, too soon – but she didn't care. Sam was here, in her house and in her world, the very places she had created to keep herself guarded from everybody else. But as the heat between them rose and Quinn saw his eyes turn dark with determination, she found that she finally had a safe place to land. And when his lips captured hers in a fervent, sincere, long-awaited kiss – Quinn was struck with the irony that the man she once used to hate was now, quite possibly, the most important part of her world.


	10. Chapter 9: Breakaway

**Hey, y'all! Okay, so here's the next chapter and I hope you like it – it's a little shorter, but it gets the job done. I actually quite like this chapter, the last part is actually one of my favorites. :)**

**Anyway, let me know what you think!**

**As always, I don't own Glee. Otherwise, Sam's guilty pleasure would've been Quinn. :P**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Breakaway**

The sun shining through the flimsy curtains danced across Sam's back, shadows catching every dip and curve of his muscles. Quinn watched, mesmerized by the rise and fall of his shoulders from his breathing, trying desperately to figure out why she was letting her head win over her heart. She had woken up several minutes earlier and had curled against Sam's figure, feeling the heat of his body against hers. She had been blissful and happy, until the quiet and the reality of their situation set in.

Quinn was silently panicking.

It was one thing to fall into bed with Sam Evans, but it was a completely different thing to even think about falling in love with him. And yet somehow, some way, she recognized all the signs. The accelerated heartbeats, the way she instantly smiled around him, the way he made every single worry disappear with just one touch. She was hooked and it was terrifying. The fear had set into her bones sometime around 7 AM, when the first rays of sunlight trickled into her vision and she blinked, realizing he was wrapped in her bed sheets. A part of her wanted to keep things the way they were – neither here nor there. But there was a meeting looming in the back of her mind, a decision she had been grappling with ever since she had woken up.

Slowly and carefully, Quinn unfolded herself out of the sheets and tiptoed across her room quickly, reaching for her silk robe to wrap around her bare body. She stole a quick glance at Sam's sleeping figure, her eyes falling into a trance, without even realizing that he had already woken up.

"Morning," he grinned sleepily. Quinn blinked, a smile ghosting over her lips.

"Hey,"

"What are you doing over there? Get back in bed," Sam chuckled, patting the empty spot next to him.

Quinn shook her head, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. Letting out her breath, she hastily grabbed her towel and a pair of denim shorts. "We have a meeting at one," she said, wincing at how curt her voice sounded.

"So? It's only 9.30," Sam pointed out, his fingers tugging at his hair, which only caused the ends to stick out even more.

"So…I have to pack. And go over lines. And you should be in the studio," she reasoned, averting her eyes from Sam, as he scooted to the foot of the bed. She was distinctly aware that he was getting closer and closer to her – literally and figuratively.

"You're leaving tomorrow and I can head into the studio after that," he shrugged. "Want to tell me what's going on, Quinn?" Sam asked, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.

She sighed, wondering what it was that made the sound of her name on his lips make her feel trapped and free at the same time. Stepping backwards, Quinn grabbed the door handle to her bathroom and forced herself to meet his gaze.

"I'll see you at Santana's," she whispered softly.

* * *

Sam tapped his fingers against his thigh, watching the numbers go up on the little screen in the elevator. Beside him, Mike was whispering something into Tina's ear that made her giggle, and beside Tina, stood Quinn. She was dressed in a striped blue dress, her fingers clutching the portfolio she held in her arms tightly, and her shoulders tensed. She stared straight ahead, her jaw set, completely oblivious to the little love-fest that was happening between her best friend and his manager.

Sam sucked in his breath, fighting back his urge to scream or shout or just…_something_.. After Quinn had retreated into the shower earlier that morning, he had been struck with the realization that none of them – not Quinn, Mike, Tina, or Santana – had ever thought what would happen if one of them got hurt. And as he had slipped silently out of Quinn's house, Sam realized that for the first time, he would probably be the victim.

"Well, here we go," Mike piped up, as the elevator doors parted. They walked towards Santana's glassed office with Quinn leading the way. There was a purpose in her stride, but the confident way she walked contrasted with the way she made herself small – as if she wanted to take up the least amount of space in the world as possible.

"It's my favorite Hollywood couple!" Santana squealed, clapping her hands together gleefully. "I'm glad you're here, but sit down first, because I've got to grab some things from my useless assistant," she rolled her eyes and flounced out of the room. Mike and Tina immediately settled themselves on the long couch, reaching for a bottle of water with a giggle, as their fingers touched. Sam held back a scoff, hesitating and watching to see where Quinn would sit. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she perched herself at the edge of the leather armchair, hands folded over one another on top of her portfolio. Letting out his breath, Sam sat himself across from her, trying to meet her gaze. If it had been anybody other than Quinn, he would've given up already – but it wasn't just anybody and he hadn't felt as…attached to just anybody before.

"Alright, you guys have been silent this whole time. Want to tell us what's going on?" Mike asked, his question cutting through the silence like a knife. Sam raised his eyebrows and snorted.

"I'm surprised you noticed," he mumbled.

"What?"

"He just meant…" Quinn started, but Sam turned his head to glare at her, anger bubbling inside him.

"He _knows_ what I meant," he snapped. Quinn shrunk back at his tone, her gaze downcast.

The room fell silent again and Sam tried hard to bite back the snarky comment that sat at the tip of his tongue. It wasn't fair that Mike got to fall for Tina with no strings attached, it wasn't fair that Quinn was pulling away from him for no reason, and it wasn't fair that they were all gathered together to decide the next step in his life. Slowly, he felt like he was losing his grip on reality and it worried him – gone was the stable ground he used to stand on, replaced by shaky doubt.

"What happened between you guys?" Tina whispered softly, shaking her head. Quinn didn't meet her gaze and Sam looked away – he didn't need to see how disappointed his manager was in him.

They stayed like that for a while, avoiding each other, and Sam nearly jumped a mile when Santana strutted back into her office, a pile of tabloid magazines nestled in the crook of her arm. She dumped them on the coffee table and placed her hands on her hips, a satisfied look on her face.

"We did good," Santana grinned.

"You're on the cover of People magazine!" Tina screeched, reaching for the glossy tabloid. "Ooh, you guys look good! Quinn, we should definitely keep this in the hairstyles archive," she giggled, flipping through the magazine with wide eyes.

Quinn smiled weakly at Tina, before turning her attention to her publicist. "Here are the new headshots you wanted," she placed the portfolio on the coffee table delicately and Sam cocked his head, confused. Quinn was acting reserved, polite, and almost robotic. Her eyes were glassed over and completely out of it – he tried meeting her gaze, but she quickly avoided him.

"Thanks, hon," Santana grabbed the portfolio and arranged it on her office desk. "Alright, so I know we're here to discuss our little arrangement, so let me be the first to say – I think we should keep it up,"

"What?" Sam snapped, his voice louder than he intended it to be. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quinn shrink back in her seat, taken aback by his tone.

Santana took a deep breath, looking at both of them. There was intensity in her dark brown eyes, one of stubborn determination, and one that he recognized all too well. "Quinn will be gone for three months of filming. Sam's album isn't scheduled for release until early next year. The timing doesn't clash – Quinn will be back in LA well before the album launch and until then, Sam can do some traveling between here and Nashville. And it doesn't matter if they don't catch you together, because we can easily pass it off as Sam recording," Santana explained.

"Will he actually be recording?" Mike asked, fingers already hovered over his BlackBerry keyboard.

"Of course,"

Sam's eyes widened in disbelief. "Isn't that decision up to me? What if I don't want to record in Nashville?" he asked, despite the fact that he already knew which producers he would call up when he got there.

"Why wouldn't you want to? You're always talking about immersing yourself in the good ol' South – here's your chance," Mike pointed out.

"What about promo? Will's already negotiating with the show to get Quinn time off, but the film promo might clash with album promo. Or Sam's tour," Tina brought up, the page in her small notebook already half-filled with notes. Sam opened his mouth to make a remark about how Asian she was, but clamped his lips shut – there was a dull anger inside him that no amount of snarky comments could put out.

"I thought about that too, but the way I see it, they don't have to be at every single red carpet event together. Sundance, the home premiere, and TIFF are a must, just like the first concert date, Nashville show, and LA show will be. And if Sam can handle flying to Europe for a couple of days, then we have the international appeal covered," Santana explained quickly. "Does anybody have a problem with the plan?"

Sam's jaw hung in disbelief – it was literally as if his publicist had been taken over by aliens and had just assumed that they were going to keep up the whole charade for the next year of their lives. He turned to Mike, hoping for some sort of sympathy, but saw that his manager was in full work-mode, his head bent over his Blackberry like it held the answers to life.

"Sounds good to me. We can work it out with Will," Tina shrugged, getting to her feet. "Are we settled? Quinn, you've got a ton of packing to do before the flight,"

"I think we're pretty much set," Santana grinned happily. "You pretty people just have to act like you're in love and we'll kill this momentum – in a good way," she added, chuckling. She turned around to head back to her desk, while Mike clasped Tina's hand, ready to walk out of the office. Sam darted his gaze between his manager and his publicist, internally panicking at the situation. He hadn't expected the decision to be made so fast and more importantly; he didn't expect the decision to be made without any input from him or Quinn.

"Wait."

It came out softly, quietly, hesitantly. There was a quiver in her voice, a shake that was recognizable, but completely unheard of when it came to Quinn Fabray. She stood up, pressing her hands together tightly and cast her gaze downwards.

"Quinn?" Santana prodded.

The blonde took a deep breath and Sam fixed his eyes on her, silently willing her to look at him. _'She has to say something, anything. We couldn't have spent the night together and not have it mean anything – it meant everything, I know it did,'_ he thought to himself.

"I want to end it," she said.

Silence fell over the room and Tina stumbled slightly over her own feet, a squeal escaping her mouth, as she held on to Mike for support. Santana whipped her head around, her eyes wide in shock. "You want to what?!" she screeched.

"End it," Quinn replied, her voice shaky. "I don't know what you have to change or who you have to call, but I'm…I'm going to Nashville with a clean slate," she said primly, adjusting her handbag on her shoulder.

"Quinn, you can't…think of everything we have to do! You can't just decide that last-minute! Nobody's going to buy it, not when you've been looking so in love with Sam!" Santana cried, panicking. Sam winced at his publicist's outburst, but couldn't bring himself to look at Quinn. The minute she had made her decision, he had understood – she wanted it over, she always had, and she wasn't going to change it for anyone.

"They'll buy anything if you sell it hard enough," Quinn answered. "I'm sorry,"

Sam opened his mouth, desperate to let any combination of words roll of his tongue, but nothing came. Instead, he locked eyes with her – painful, heartbroken, teary, hazel eyes meeting perplexed green ones – before she turned to walk out of the office and towards the elevators.

* * *

"What are you doing?!" Mike cried, throwing his phone towards the couch, doing a double-take to check that it landed on the cushions safely. "Get your ass to Quinn's and knock some sense into her!"

"Clearly, you don't know Quinn Fabray," Sam snorted, his fingers lazily strumming the guitar in his lap. It was an hour after their meeting at Santana's and instead of sticking around to hear Santana rant about how ungrateful her clients were, Sam had opted to leave. He had a good half hour to himself in his studio, before Mike had barged in, eyes wild and shoulders tense, babbling about how everything was shot to hell.

"Sam, I'm serious," Mike said, his voice leveling. "Quinn can't just go to Nashville – we need a statement. They need an explanation,"

"Why do the media need an explanation about something that's supposed to be private?"

"We need to cancel events, Sam. Cancel flights. Satisfy your fan-bases," Mike explained. He heaved a big sigh, tugging at his hair. "I know you hate this side of the business. It's ruthless and shallow and I know you think it's pointless – but it's necessary. When we control what your image looks like out there, when we control what they print, we have the upper hand. We can spin it any way we want – positively," he added.

Sam stopped strumming his guitar and turned to look at Mike. He was disheveled and stressed, his hair messy, and Sam suddenly felt like apologizing.

"Look, I'll call Quinn, okay? But don't expect an answer," Sam warned, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to dial the familiar number. "She's stubborn,"

Mike nodded, scooting back on the couch to give him space. They waited together in silence for several long seconds, before Sam hung up the phone and shrugged. "Well, I guess that's it. Tina says Quinn really won't change her mind and getting you to talk to her was the last straw – I'm calling Santana," Mike said decisively, fixing the phone on speaker.

"Mike? Please tell me you have good news," the Latina's usually calm and commanding voice sounded worried over the phone.

"Hey, Lopez. I've got Sam with me. Look, we're going to have to leak the story," he explained. There was a pause and Sam cringed, waiting for Santana's attack.

"Alright," she sighed.

"What? You're not mad?" Sam asked incredulously.

"No. Quinn doesn't really change her mind and she won't this time – not about something like this. It was a good run, but I'll have someone draft up a release and we can leak it tonight. Her flight's at midnight, so she won't deal with paparazzi when she gets to the airport," Santana conceded.

"Thanks, Santana,"

"That's what I'm here for," she said, defeated. "I'm sorry about all this, Sammy,"

"It's not your fault,"

"Somehow…I'm sure there's a way it could be," she scoffed. "I'll talk to you boys soon,"

Mike hung up the phone and took a long look at Sam, trying to gauge his reaction. When he didn't get anything, he slapped a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, a sympathetic look in his eyes. "You never told me what you wanted to do," he pointed out.

"About the relationship?" Sam asked. "I wanted…" he trailed off, debating between confessing or keeping his mouth shut.

"You wanted to keep it going," Mike answered for him. "Don't lie to me, Evans," he chuckled. "I saw the way you looked at her,"

Sam hesitated, before letting out a groan of frustration. "I didn't want to keep dating her if it meant I'd have to pretend, Mike. I wanted to stop the PR side of it, but I wanted to keep her," he explained, his nose wrinkled in thought. "But this whole thing…it was just temporary for her. It always was,"

"You could still get her back, you know. Head to Nashville, do the big gesture,"

This time, it was Sam's turn to chuckle. "You're talking like my best friend – not my manager," he grinned, before shaking his head and focusing. "No, Quinn's…she had her own reasons to end it and she's always done what's expected of her and her career. And that's what she needs to do."

* * *

Quinn leaned back into her seat, taking a small sip of the complimentary orange juice they had placed on her tray. There was an empty seat next to her and across the aisle, Will was already falling asleep. They had been on the plane for exactly twenty minutes and when she peeked out the window, all she saw was the dark night – a blanket covering the city she loved so much, the city she was leaving behind for three months. Somewhere, underneath that dark blanket, Santana was probably cursing her blonde head, while Tina was trying desperately to calm her down. A part of Quinn felt sorry for all of them – that they had to be implicated by only several words that she decided to say. Her decision was met with a lot of outrage, she expected that. She also expected Sam to jump in to defend her or even to yell at her or just…anything. He had been quiet and holding back the entire time they were in Santana's office and Quinn knew why – he was busy trying to figure her out.

It was something she couldn't afford, she knew that now. Spending the night with Sam, wrapped up in his strong arms, had made her feel safe and protected. But when daylight came shining through the windows, Quinn felt trapped, bound by the decision she had made several months ago to even start the whole PR relationship in the first place. It was all well and good to pretend, but when it started to feel real – it started to feel scary. There was a reason Quinn didn't date actors or musicians or celebrities. They were all good at lying; they were all good at faking it hard enough that it seemed real. And sometime between falling asleep with Sam and waking up on her own, Quinn realized that the lines between Hollywood and reality were starting to blur.

"Please be informed that our in-flight Wireless Internet access is now available for passengers' use,"

The steward's voice interrupted her thoughts and Quinn automatically pulled out her laptop, powering it up quickly. She hated how connected she had to be, but given the decision she had just made – there was bound to be angry emails and backlash. Taking a peek at her phone as she waited for the laptop to start, she noticed several missed calls – three from Tina, two from Mike, seven from Santana, and one from Sam. Sighing softly to herself, Quinn turned her attention to her laptop screen, quickly opening up her mail and browser. She scrolled past junk mail and ticked off the important ones she'd re-read later, before taking a deep breath and typing in her name into her Google searchbar. She waited, watching the news results load one by one, feeling the tears spring to her eyes.

_Fabray and Evans call it quits!_

_Quinn in Nashville, Sam in LA – switching sides and states!_

_Are actress-musician relationships destined to fail?_

_Sam Evans is singing a different tune – ladies, he's single!_

_Sam and Quinn – what went wrong?_

She choked back a strangled cry and closed her laptop, putting everything away as quickly as she could. A part of her regretted ending things, but a bigger part knew it was the right thing to do. Either way, her heart still felt broken and as she curled up against the small airplane window, looking out at the dark sky, Quinn wished it had all gone differently.

She wished she had the chance to know Sam Evans.


	11. Chapter 10: Scared and Stupid

**And here we are at Chapter 10! Just want to say a quick thanks to whoever is still reading this thing, it means a lot that you haven't given up on it yet! :P**

**There was quite a bit of action in the last chapter, with Quinn ending things and running off to Nashville. This chapter's kind of a filler - but you'll get to see how Tina, Mike, and Santana are dealing with things. Even though this is only a filler type of chapter, I still quite like it. It reminds me of the prologue, where we saw both Sam and Quinn's perspectives - hopefully I pulled it off in this chapter, too! :P**

**Anyway, please read and enjoy and leave a little review at the end. :) I'd really appreciate it!**

**Also, I don't own Glee or its characters, duh. If I did, Sam would've been fighting to save Quinn during the school shooting. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Scared and Stupid**

"Well, it sounds like you're settling in great, sweetie. I'll call you later and I'll see you next week, okay?" Tina paused. "Alright, bye, take care, love you!" she hung up the phone and sighed, closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to her temple. She could feel the knots in her shoulder and across her back; she could practically her own pulse pumping through her body.

"Hey, you,"

Mike's voice fell over her like a warm blanket and she turned, a smile immediately forming on her lips. She whispered a greeting to him breathlessly, before allowing him to wrap her into his arms. She molded perfectly to his body and Tina breathed him in, thanking whoever it was that decided to walk him into her life. The past week had been chaotic, with the media frenzy refusing to die down. Quinn had the luxury of being in a different state and Sam had the luxury of locking himself away from the world, but Mike, Santana, and Tina had exhausted themselves trying to keep up with the media frenzy.

"How's Quinn?" Mike asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

"She's great. She loves Nashville, says she's got a real handle on farm life out there," Tina wrinkled her nose. "If you ask me, I can't really imagine Quinn Fabray giving up her weekly manicures and blowouts for stables and hay,"

"Well, to each their own," Mike shrugged. "I haven't found him, by the way," he added, after a beat of silence passed between them.

"Mike Chang, he has to be in this house somewhere," Tina deadpanned. "I mean, I know it's a mansion, but it's not that big,"

"Alright, so I've only checked the upstairs. He's not in the studio, though – the red light isn't on," he shrugged, leading Tina out of the kitchen and towards the basement. "I don't know why we have to check up on him, anyway. He's a big boy; he's obviously handling it the way he wants to,"

"He's your client. More importantly, he's your best friend and we haven't heard from him since…since she left," Tina breathed out shakily. It wasn't like she was afraid to use Quinn's name, but using it in Sam's house suddenly felt taboo after everything that had happened. "All he knows is that the story broke and that she's safely in Nashville. He's avoiding calls, visits, and you've let it go on for too long," she scolded.

Mike rolled his eyes, stopping right outside a heavy oak door. Breathing in deeply, he willed himself to keep his anger in check. He knew what Sam must be feeling right now – abandoned, hurt, disappointed, and resigned. And despite the part of him that wanted to tell his best friend to snap out of it, he knew he had to be more tactical than that. "Alright, let's go," Mike sighed, pushing open the door and letting Tina step inside first.

The room was bright and sparkled from the light that streamed through the sliding doors, bouncing off the mirrored walls to create streaks that danced across the hardwood floors. All the gym equipment faced the glass doors, giving whoever was working out a breathtaking view of the grounds around the house. Right in the middle of it all, a breathless Sam Evans was making his way through a set of crunches – judging from the redness in his face, Tina guessed he had been at it for a while.

"Hey, Sam," she said softly, approaching him with care. Sam stopped in the middle of a sit up and looked up at her, blinking the sweat out of his eyes. His hair was plastered to his forehead in clumps, the sweat turning the blonde to an unrecognizable brown. After several seconds of silence, Sam grunted in response, before continuing his work out.

Mike sat on a bench, resting his elbows on his knees to lean forward. "Hey, we've got to talk, man,"

"About what?" Sam huffed, his voice gravelly and shaken.

"You know about what,"

"If you're referring to the fact that everybody's blaming me for this fake breakup of a fake relationship, then I've heard it. Keep walking," he didn't stop his crunches and for the briefest of moments, Tina found herself distracted by Sam's defined muscles – before quickly snapping out of it.

"Nobody's blaming you for anything. How would you even know? You haven't been out of the house in a week!" Mike scoffed.

"I have this amazing thing called the Internet,"

"Oh, will you both stop it?" Tina groaned, stepping in. "Sam, like it or not, you're going to have to crawl out of your hole some time. There's an album that needs producing, events that need attending, and I'm sorry, but a life that needs living," she pointed out, her temper flaring. "And you!" she whirled around to point a finger at Mike, who was shrunk back against the bench-press. "Shame on you for being angry at your best friend when he's clearly in pain! Both of you need to get a grip,"

Silence filled the room and Sam stopped doing his sit-ups, instead coming to rest on his knees. "Alright, fine. I'll…live," he shrugged unenthusiastically.

Still, it was the best Tina would wrangle out of him. "Good! Now, first things first. You need to get back out there. Maybe Santana could set up another night out with Sugar?" Tina suggested, wincing as the words came out of her mouth – even she knew an idea like that would end in disaster.

"Sam needs to come clean about something first," Mike suddenly announced and his calm, even voice cut through the room. His stare was unwavering and Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"What?"

"He's been keeping a secret – something I don't even know about. At least, not with all the details," Mike got to his feet, folding his arms across his chest authoritatively. "And believe me, it'll all be easier with everything out in the open. There's a reason why you're hiding from the world after this breakup and as your manager – as your friend – I need to know what it is,"

"Mike, don't," Sam jumped up, running a hand through his damp hair. "Look, I'll get back into the studio and I'll go to all the events, but just…don't,"

Tina's gaze darted back and forth between the two men and she debated forcing them to just spit it out – hearing them talk in circles was making her mad. But she knew Mike had a point. Had it been any other girl, under any other circumstance, Sam would've bounced back easily. After all, it had just been a PR relationship and neither of them had been enthusiastic about it from the beginning. Quinn and Sam had made it perfectly clear they were doing it strictly for their careers.

_'Unless something changed.'_

The thought struck Tina amidst the haze of confusion that brewed in her mind and it was as if everything came to life – it made sense. Something had to have happened between Sam and Quinn to make it meaningful. Perhaps Tina had been too wrapped up in getting to know Mike, but her mind suddenly flashed back to their meeting with Santana – how heavy and tense and awkward it had been.

Meanwhile, Sam was busy gazing out the sliding doors, his face pensive with thought. The sun caught his handsome face perfectly, the rays dipping in and out of every curve of his muscles and Tina's heart nearly broke at the sadness that overtook his body. With a heavy sigh, he turned slowly, to face both of them, resignation etched across his face.

"I sort of…fell. For Quinn," Sam added, hesitating to choose his words correctly. "I don't know how it happened,"

Tina smirked, leaning back against the treadmill. _'Knew it,'_ she thought gleefully to herself. Beside her, Mike chuckled softly and took a step forward. "You told me you wanted to keep it going, that you wanted to get rid of the PR side of things, but keep her, right?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "It sounds selfish, but that's how I felt. Anyway, things just got…weird at the meeting and it was like I was frozen and I couldn't say anything," he shrugged. "And then, she suddenly goes and decides to end it – without talking to me first, without any explanation, she just up and walks out. It's frustrating," Sam shook his head, sending drops of sweat flying from the ends of his hair.

"Okay, but why does that bother you? If it was just supposed to be a PR thing, it wouldn't have fazed you one bit. What changed?" Tina asked, her voice soft and gentle.

Sam sucked in his breath and exhaled slowly, a war between telling the truth and brushing it off silently waging in his head. He lifted his head to look at both Mike and Tina and for the first time, he saw what the aftermath of their story had done to them. They were tired, he could tell by the dark circles under their eyes. Mike's fingers gripped his Blackberry tighter than usual and despite Tina's soft smile, there was a tension in her shoulders that seemed permanent. He hated what he was doing – not just to himself, but to his best friends, too.

"Sam?" Tina's small, meek voice prodded.

"We slept together,"

Sam's admission caused the whole room to fall silent for several minutes. Tina staggered back and sat herself down on the treadmill, while Mike's eyes widened. Just as Sam thought they had stopped breathing, Mike spoke first.

"How was it?"

Tina immediately stood up, reaching over to punch him in the shoulder. "Mike Chang!" she squealed.

Sam snorted, holding back a laugh. The tension in the room broke and he finally let out an even breath, feeling the weight that was on his shoulders start to fade. It felt good to tell Mike and Tina and he realized he had been keeping it bottled up for too long.

"You don't have to tell us anything, but…this is all making sense now!" Tina clapped her hands together gleefully, causing Sam to raise his eyebrows at her. The small Asian girl bounced towards him and threw her arms around his neck, trapping him in a fierce hug – despite the fact that he was sweaty and probably smelled gross. "Does this mean you're going to Nashville?" she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"He's not going anywhere!" Mike leapt to his feet. "You can't just fly to Nashville on a whim, Sam. We're behind in production and we need to get you back into the single life,"

"Don't be ridiculous! If he wants to go to Nashville to win Quinn back, he can," Tina scoffed.

Sam's gaze darted between the two – his best friend turned manager, who had always had his best interests at heart, and Quinn's best friend – and he shook his head in disbelief. They still didn't understand it, how he was slowly fraying at the edges and losing grip over the control he once had on his career, not to mention his personal life. He stayed silent, watching Tina and Mike argue what Sam's next move should be, until he felt like he was going to snap in half. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that they were just trying to do what was best for him.

"Thanks guys, for listening. If you don't mind, I'm going to grab a quick shower and then I'll be in the studio," Sam said curtly, squeezing in between Tina and Mike to exit the gym. He took a quick glance backwards and saw that they were both involved in a hushed conversation – with a scoff, Sam knew they were already planning contingency plans for whatever impulsive thing their client was going to do next.

And the thing was, Sam wasn't planning on acting on impulse. As much as he wanted to see Quinn, he was also hurt that she had taken the steps to end it without discussing anything with him first. He was hurt that she was so stubborn and in denial about what she felt for him, because Sam wasn't stupid – that night meant something to both of them. And he saw it in her eyes, at Santana's office, when she tearfully said she wanted out of the agreement. She was scared and vulnerable and building up her walls. And if he was being completely honest, he understood. Sam was terrified of laying everything out on the line with Quinn and just the thought of traveling to see her so he could explain himself was causing him to retreat back into his dark studio.

'_I just need to let her go – for now, at least.'_

* * *

Santana clicked her tongue, irritated at the mosquitos that buzzed around her bare legs. She adjusted the sunglasses on her face and watched intently at the little screen in front of her. On it, Quinn was having an intense argument with her co-star, a young girl who was already generating Oscar buzz from her last film. Suddenly, there was a loud gunshot and Santana smiled proudly when she saw Quinn's reaction to the sound on the monitor – it was real, emotional, and tugged at your heartstrings. If Santana was being completely honest, this was her favorite part of her job. Yelling at reporters and tabloids for printing inappropriate comments was fun, but she loved watching her clients in action – whether it was one of her athletes scoring a winning a touchdown or a singer winning an award or an actor nailing every take – it made her proud.

"What'd you think?" Quinn asked, running up to her publicist breathlessly, after the director had called it a wrap for the day.

"So good! You were great," Santana gave her client a one-armed hug, before they headed back to Quinn's trailer. "You're done for the day?" she asked.

"Believe me, this is a rare occurrence," Quinn giggled, quickly changing into her normal clothes. Helping Santana with her luggage, the girls piled into the waiting town car. Along the way, they caught up with each other's lives and as much as Santana wanted to scream and yank out Quinn's hair for being so nonchalant, she kept quiet about the Sam situation. Within half an hour, their car pulled up in front of the Hilton suites that Quinn called her temporary home and in just several minutes, they were lounging on the couch, lazily munching on a big bowl of microwave popcorn.

"Nashville's pretty," Santana remarked, gazing out the window to look at the illuminated city.

"I'm in love with it. LA's great, don't get me wrong. I'll always be a Cali girl. But there's something about Nashville that's…it's sort of magical," Quinn said, her voice melodic with warmth. A silence fell between them and Santana heard Quinn let out a long sigh, before she got up to grab two bottles of beer. "I know why you're here," Quinn said, after taking her first sip.

"Do you?" Santana asked, her dark brown eyes searching Quinn's face. Santana prided herself on knowing exactly what her client wanted and how they wanted to be presented to the world – but Quinn had always been the challenge. One minute she was outspoken and passionate, the next minute she was reserved and shy. The combination made her mysterious and private in the press, but it made her puzzling to those who knew her. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"To yell at me about the thing,"

"What thing?" Santana kept her voice innocent and her eyes wide – if she was going to get Quinn to confess to the lobotomy she clearly had, then she was going to do it right.

"Santana, stop,"

She took a deep breath, before turning to face Quinn head-on. "You mean the thing where you decided to duck out of the PR relationship? The thing where you made no hint to it before, so it took us all by surprise? The thing where you clearly made a decision all on your own, because our reaction pretty much said it all? The thing where you then just up and left, leaving the rest of us to deal with the aftermath? The thing that not only threw away all my hard work building the relationship up, but also Mike and Tina's hard work at making sure your hearts were safe?" Santana rattled off, getting to her feet. There was a fire blazing in her eyes now, the anger she had kept suppressed for a week finally coming to life. She raised her eyebrows at Quinn, expecting a response and when she didn't get one, she rolled her eyes in frustration.

After several seconds of silence, Quinn finally spoke. "Our hearts were never safe, Santana. And if Mike and Tina were supposed to make sure we didn't get hurt or attached or in trouble…then they clearly didn't succeed," Her voice was calm and even, but there was an edge in the way she held herself – perfectly poised and stiff.

"What?"

Quinn narrowed her eyes at her publicist, steeling her gaze until Santana shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. "If you could've taken one second to focus on your clients instead of the press, maybe you would have realized," she spat.

"Crossing the line, Fabray," Santana warned, before taking several moments to compose herself. "And I would have realized what?"

"Exactly," Quinn scoffed, leaning back into the couch and crossing her arms. "You didn't pay attention,"

"Well then tell me so I can help you!" Santana cried, throwing her arms up in frustration. "Honestly, Quinn, you're talking in circles. Did something happen between you and Sam?"

The second Santana said his name; she saw Quinn's face change – what was once a steely, determined expression transformed into a weak quiver in her lips. She looked away, ducking her head to avoid Santana's wide eyes and her heartbeat quickened. It had been so long since she had heard his name, heard it tumbling off someone's lips and the sound of it, just that one syllable, sent her mind into overdrive. How was he? What was he doing right this minute? How was his album coming along? Did he miss her at all?

Amidst all the phone calls and text messages and voice mails she had received during the aftermath of the breakup, Quinn had still only received that one missed call from Sam. And since she was stubborn and stupid when it came to matters of the heart, she had let it go – he hadn't left a voicemail and she knew that he wouldn't. Instead, she kept herself immersed in the character she was playing, only to come back to her suite at night and search for new Google alerts concerning Sam Evans. Most of the time, she found nothing. He hadn't made any appearances and except for a fan sighting at his usual guitar store, Sam was virtually gone.

"Quinn…what happened?" Santana asked, her voice gentle and unassuming. Hesitantly, she settled herself next to Quinn, who had pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly. "What did Sam do?"

Quinn blinked at her publicist, her eyebrows furrowed. "Sam didn't do anything," she said defensively. "Don't you get it? It's _me_,"

"Hey…" Santana reached out to her, before she jumped up and started ranting.

"It's _me_," she insisted. "I'm too afraid and scared to be vulnerable and I'm too stubborn and stupid to realize when something good and real is in front of me! I shut everybody out and I keep all of you at a safe distance because of what? Because I'm afraid of getting hurt?" Quinn cried, tears making tracks as they rolled down her cheeks. Santana's heart broke at the sight of one of her best friends losing control – for so long, Quinn had been the strongest link and seeing her crumble was unsettling.

"Everybody puts up walls," she replied feebly.

"I put up armors, San," Quinn took a deep breath, before exhaling and forcing herself to look at Santana in the eyes. "We slept together,"

Santana's eyes widened and her jaw fell, unsure of what to say next. The clock on the wall kept ticking and in the distance, the sound of the city buzzed. Around them, life moved on, but Santana was frozen – trying to come to terms with the idea of Sam and Quinn actually together.

"Santana?" Quinn's small, hesitant voice broke Santana out of her daydream.

"You and Sam?" she asked, earning a curt nod from her friend. "Wait a second…what happened after that?"

Quinn groaned and flopped herself back down on the couch. "I ran," she sighed. "Like, I just…I really blew it, San. He was sweet and he wanted me, all of me, the bad parts and all, but I got scared…"

"And stupid," Santana finished. "And then without even talking it out, you went and made the decision to end things because it was easier to run than to deal with your feelings,"

"Exactly," Quinn nodded.

"Why don't you want to admit you care about him?"

She hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "I guess…I guess if I admit it, it's true. I made such a big show of not falling for someone in the business and he's…he was everything I hated about Hollywood. Arrogant, cocky, entitled. And now here I am, just like every other girl he's played before," Quinn sniffed, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

"You're not like every other girl, Q," Santana pressed. "But you did hurt him, so…"

"So I blew it,"

"Stop. You did not blow anything, okay? Sam forgives – it's his best quality and believe me, with all the stuff I've made him do over the years, it's my favorite quality, too," Santana giggled. "You can't ignore that you hurt him, though. You just have to own up to that,"

"What if I can't?"

"You'll have to,"


	12. Chapter 11: Need You Now

**Woot, Chapter 11, you guys! Thanks for taking the time to keep up with this monstrosity (yes, that's what I'm calling it now), seriously. :) Anyway, last chapter, you saw how Sam and Quinn were both handling the so-called breakup. This chapter, you'll see Quinn break out of her shell a little and some cute moments, so hopefully you'll like it!**

**This chapter is significantly shorter than the others, but I just really wanted to put up something a little less…heavy than last chapter. Lol.**

**Regardless, I hope you guys like it! Please leave a little review – I'd really appreciate it!**

**Again, I don't own Glee. If I did…oh, you'd know how it'd turn out. Lol.**

* * *

**Chapter 11: Need You Now**

The sun lowered behind the Nashville city skyline, the last remnants of daylight chased away by the warm glow that hugged the buildings. Wrapped up in a comfortable, wool blanket, Quinn rested her chin on her knees, her eyes narrowing at the mobile phone in front of her.

"Call him. Just…just call him. Apologize. Tell him the truth. Everybody wants to hear that someone loves them, right?" she muttered to herself. She blinked away from the phone, catching a glimpse of herself in a nearby mirror and groaned. Her hair was tangled and matted, piled high on her head in a messy, careless ponytail and the dark circles under her eyes weren't from late nights partying or memorizing lines – they were from pacing back and forth her hotel room, trying to decide her next move.

Santana had left two weeks ago, leaving behind a stack of contracts, itineraries, and approvals for Quinn to sift through. She had also left behind a lot of things to think about. Quinn had spent two weeks holed up in her hotel room (except for filming, of course), going over every single crevice in her mind, trying to figure out what she really wanted. After fourteen days of soul-searching, which included more than one frantic phone call to Tina and Santana and too many pints of ice cream to even count, Quinn had finally broken down.

"You like him," she whispered softly, eyeing her own reflection. "Maybe more than like him. Maybe even love. You…love Sam," she said, testing the way the words sounded on her tongue. Giving the mirror a steely gaze, Quinn quickly grabbed her mobile phone and dialed, holding it up to her ear. Her heartbeat sped up with every ringing tone and she braced herself, biting her lip in anticipation.

"Hello?"

Quinn nearly fell off the couch at the sound of his voice. "Hey," she said, her voice shaky and unsure. "It's…it's Quinn,"

"I know,"

"Great," she quipped in a squeaky voice. Wincing, Quinn unwrapped herself from the wool blanket and started pacing the length of the living room. "I just…I wanted to talk," her thumb immediately flew to her mouth, her fingers biting the skin around her nail.

"About?"

"Sam…" she started, ready to defend herself, before a voice in her head (which uncannily resembled Santana's voice) reminded her that the only reason Sam was being short with her was because it was her own fault. She took another deep breath, before resigning to the fact that for once, she was going to have to be completely vulnerable – and over the phone, nonetheless. "I'm sorry,"

"What?" Sam asked, obviously irritated. For the first time, Quinn heard loud music blaring in the background she briefly wondered if he was at a party or some event – or worse, a date.

"I'm sorry,"

"Quinn, I don't…hold on a sec," she heard the slam of a door and suddenly it was quiet. If it hadn't been for Sam's soft breaths, she would've thought he had hung up on her. "Okay, what was it?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated for the third time, her foot tapping against the carpeted floor impatiently.

"About?"

"Can you not be so irritating for like, one second?" she snapped. "I just…need to talk. To you,"

"I'm in the middle of picking out tracks for the album, can you make it quick?"

Quinn pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at in shock. Sam Evans, the one she had known during all their downtime together, had been replaced by his former self – he sounded exactly like the cocky, arrogant, and self-involved musician celebrity who had ran into her at Santana's office. She felt the familiar bubble of anger start to rise inside her and she pressed the phone back to her ear, ready to give him a piece of her mind.

"Quinn? Seriously?"

"Yes,_ seriously_, Sam Evans," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just for one second, take your mind away from that country album and pay attention,"

She heard Sam hesitate, before he muttered, "Okay,"

"I miss you," Quinn said in one breath. "A lot. And not in the way that I miss Tina or even Santana, or in the way I miss cold LA nights, but I miss you like…like how you miss Nashville," Sam's breath hitched in his throat and she knew that he was hooked. "I was stupid and I'm sorry. I should've never told Santana that I wanted to end things, at least now without talking to you about it first. I don't want to end things. I want…I want you here. With me," she said shakily.

There was a moment of silence between them and Quinn could hear Sam's even breathing over the phone. Her heart pounded with the thought that Sam could easily just hang up on her, but before she had the chance to say anything, he started to speak. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"I'm completely aware," she giggled. "And I know it's been nearly a month, but I just…I miss you," without meaning to, her voice cracked at her last words and Quinn felt tears spring to her eyes. There was something to be said about hearing Sam's voice – deep and husky, tinged with that Southern drawl, it made her ache for something she had become accustomed to.

"What do you want me to do, Quinn? Fly out to Nashville?" he asked softly.

"Yes,"

There was a beat between them as Sam contemplated her answer. After several seconds, she heard him draw in a deep breath and say,

"Okay."

* * *

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, before opening them slowly, letting the light from outside wash over his face. It took him a few seconds to figure out where he was, because the fluffy blankets that covered his bare body were definitely not his own. He stretched his arms above his head and flexed his ankles, relishing in the way his muscles felt after a good night's sleep. And it had been a good night's sleep, quite possibly the best one he had since about a month ago, when Quinn left to Nashville.

'_Quinn.'_

Slowly, pieces from the previous night trickled back into his memory – the private jet he wrangled without Mike knowing, the torturous four-hour flight, and pacing in front of Quinn's hotel room, before storming in. He had literally swept her off her feet and while she was busy complaining that he couldn't just burst into the room like he owned the damn place, Sam had slipped his mouth over hers, effectively shutting her up. They had fumbled their way around a darkened living room, falling back onto the couch in a mess of limbs, and spent the next few hours memorizing each other's bodies, recommitting each other to memory.

Sam stretched, flexing his ankles, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. His bare feet touched Quinn's bare feet and as he turned his body to face her, he was struck with an ache in his heart – that they couldn't stay like this forever, that they both had lives to get to, that the incessant buzzing from his phone meant Mike probably found out about the private jet.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," he murmured, running a fingertip against the soft skin of her cheek and tucking back a strand of blond hair. She mumbled something incoherent and burrowed her face against his bare chest, wrapping an arm around his waist. "You gonna permanently attach yourself there?" he chuckled, his eyes downcast at the blonde hair that fanned against his chest.

"You haven't even been back in Nashville for a whole day and you're already starting to sound like a redneck," she teased, lifting her head to look at him. They stayed like that for a while, Sam in complete disbelief at how easy it had been to let her back in again – more importantly, how easy it had been for him to be let in with her. "What have you got going on today?" she asked, rolling away from him to check the time on the clock radio beside her bed.

"I'm supposed to be low-key, remember? Can't have people in Nashville thinking I'm actually _visiting_ you," he joked, reaching out of bed to grab his phone. Bringing it up to his face, he saw 53 missed calls from Mike, 12 from Tina, and at least 20 from Santana. "Ah, the circus has been alerted," he laughed, showing the phone to Quinn.

"Maybe if you had actually told Mike that you were leaving, he wouldn't have been so worried,"

"Do you not have one impulsive bone in your body?" Sam asked incredulously, as Quinn grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her, coming around the bed to sit next to him. "Besides, it's not like you were complaining last night," he raised his eyebrows suggestively, nudging her with his knee.

"Obviously," she giggled, letting her fingers dance across his taut bicep. "Thanks, by the way. I really needed you,"

"And vice versa," he added, pressing a soft kiss to her fingers. She traced the outline of his lips and sighed happily. "But if you don't get your butt into the shower, you're gonna get fired," Sam chuckled, nudging her off the bed.

"I'm going, I'm going," she smiled, making her way towards the bathroom. She turned back to look at him, as she leaned against the doorway, a twinkle in her eyes. "Be here when I get back from work?" she asked, her voice full of hope.

"Promise."

Several hours later, after Quinn finally went off to work and Sam managed to steal a few more hours of sleep, he sat down on the couch with a mug of coffee, twirling his phone in his hands. In addition to the missed calls, there were unanswered text messages – from Mike, Santana, Tina, and even one from Stacy. Knowing that he was probably going to get yelled at from the first three, he quickly dialed Stacy's number, holding it up to his ear.

"Hi, Hollywood," she chirped, after the fourth ring. Hearing his little sister's voice, his shoulders immediately relaxed and he sunk back into the couch, taking a sip of coffee.

"You texted me, asking to call you. What's up?"

"You, apparently," he heard her smack her gum, before continuing. "Mike called me last night, freaking out. Said you just walked out of a studio session?"

"Yeah," Sam replied hesitantly.

"He seemed sort of worried, but I figured it was because you were meeting with the president of the label or whatever. Anyway, he said that if I heard from you, I should call,"

"Okay,"

"He made me sort of worried, so I decided to check Twitter,"

"Stace, you didn't…"

"Did you know, that practically 95% of the population will tweet or update their Facebook status or snap a picture, if they happen to see a celebrity? Did you also know that 83% of these updates or pictures usually take place in an airport? And did you know how easy it was to find some 12 year old girl's Twitter page that documented exactly when and where she saw you last night?" Stacy fired, causing Sam to sit back up and run an exasperated hand through his hair.

"Damn it,"

"What in the world are you doing in Nashville, Sam?"

He groaned, setting his coffee down and standing up, his anxious feet starting to pace the living room. It dawned on him that he had conveniently forgotten to tell his family about the breakup. He was sure his mother – who read the tabloids daily – had already figured it out. But he had avoided the entire topic and his family, letting Mike answer the phone every time one of them called. And now that he was back in town, he didn't want anybody finding out the real reason why – especially his mom, who had already made it clear that she loved Quinn too much for him to hurt her. "Listen, Stace, it's just a business thing, alright? I'm meeting a couple of writers and producers for the album," he lied quickly.

"You sure?" Stacy's skeptical tone told Sam that she didn't quite believe him, but the sudden fear that he was going to be found out gripped him tightly.

"Yeah. Listen, I gotta run. Give everybody my love, tell Stevie to call me some time, will you? I'll keep in touch," Sam said hurriedly. "Love you," he added, before quickly hanging up and hurling his phone against the soft cushions of a nearby armchair. A part of him knew it was impulsive and stupid to just walk out of a studio session and hop on a plane to Tennessee. But another part of him knew, the minute he got that phone call from Quinn, that Nashville was exactly where he was meant to be.

He had talked about it for so long – packing everything up and moving back to the South, writing with the legends, and performing acoustic sessions at the Bluebird Café. There was something about Nashville for a country artist, something the bright city lights of Los Angeles could never replicate. And now, he was finally back in his hometown – but under completely different circumstances. He knew how easy the media would pick apart his presence in Nashville. Quinn had been photographed at all the hottest spots in the city and for Sam to show up in those same places would give them something to speculate about.

'_Looks like I learned a thing or two from Santana and Mike,'_ he thought to himself, chuckling at the irony.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted, when his phone started to ring, the tone muffled by the cushions it had been thrown under. Lunging for the phone, he nearly knocked over his coffee mug, but managed to keep it upright, as he pressed the small device up to his ear.

"Where the hell are you?!"

Mike Chang rarely yelled. He scolded and he reprimanded and he had a million facial expressions for disappointment, but he never actually yelled. Until now.

"Hey…Mike…" Sam said slowly, dragging out his best friend's name.

"Shut up. Do you know what I've been through? Look, I know you're a total rockstar, but I didn't think you'd ever act like one – a private jet, Sam? To go where? Vegas? I swear, if you're blowing all your money on…"

"Nashville," Sam answered. He heard Mike stumble slightly and held back a chuckle, figuring his best friend was probably trying to find a chair to sit in to recover from shock. "Mike? Listen, I'm safe, alright?"

"What the hell are you doing over there?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I'm…with Quinn,"

"Sam!"

"No, just like…hear me out, okay? She called me last night and said she needed me and I guess…I don't know," he reasoned pathetically.

"I am getting on the next flight to Nashville to pound some sense into you," Mike said, his voice calm – an indication that he was downright furious.

"Look, I know it was out of line and you're probably going to deal with a ton of press –"

"Why would I be dealing with a ton of press? You haven't even been there for 24 hours! What did you and Quinn do, rob the Whiskey Kitchen?!" he shrieked, panicking.

"Calm down! I just meant if we were to go out in public,"

"You won't be. You're holding yourself hostage in that room until Santana can figure out what to do," Mike ordered. "_Honestly, _Sam, what were you thinking? Your album release is two weeks away! Your entire schedule is packed and you choose now to be an impulsive romantic?"

"Mike, let it go, alright? She needed me and so did I,"

"I thought you were doing well! You had all those songs…"

"About her. All those songs were about _her_," Sam said defiantly. "I know you're looking out for me and I appreciate it. But as my best friend, you've got to let me do this and figure it out on my own,"

Mike was silent for a while and Sam knew he had taken what he said to heart. If there was one thing Mike could be counted on for, it was that he overanalyzed just about everything. "Alright, I'll let you live. Just…if she hurts you again…"

"You're the first person I'll call," he said, without missing a beat. "Well, after the pilot for the jet, that is," Sam added, laughing.

"I'm being serious, buddy. I know Nashville's not like LA and you don't have paparazzi everywhere you go…but like, 98% of people will snap a picture or tweet or update their Facebook status and then the whole world will know. And it's not hard to put two and two together," Mike explained. "Don't make me ask Santana come up with a release about how you and Quinn are just friends,"

"You sound like my little sister," Sam chuckled.


	13. Chapter 12: Risky Business

**First off, obviously, thank you for all the kind words. :)**

**Second, please don't hate me after this. :P**

**Third, I don't own Glee. If I did...there'd be a lot of changes.**

**Have fun, y'all!**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Risky Business**

"Let's go out," Quinn announced, letting the hotel door fall shut behind her. She peeled off her boots and tossed them aside, scurrying towards the living room, where – as he had been for the past two days – Sam was strumming the guitar on his lap. She gently pulled the instrument from his lap and propped it up against the side of the couch. "Please?" she asked.

"You can't just interrupt a good song-writing session," he pointed out, faltering with his words, as Quinn rolled her eyes and slid across his lap to straddle him. "But you can do that. Hi," Sam grinned, pulling her in for a kiss.

"Let's go out," she repeated. "I love room service and everything, but I really hate being cooped up in here, especially when Nashville is right out there," Quinn motioned towards the huge balcony windows.

Sam sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You know what'll happen, right? They're going to have a field day,"

"Who cares, though? I mean, since when do you play by the rules, anyway?" she smirked, tapping the top of his nose playfully. "We let them dictate our lives way too much, if you ask me and I'm just…ready to get a little freedom,"

"Now I can see why all the critics call you the reckless actress," Sam joked.

"Excuse me, that's because of the roles I choose, not because I'm stumbling out of a nightclub wasted," Quinn laughed. "Come on, please? Just for dinner. We don't even have to go to a fancy restaurant, I'll go to Burger King or something,"

"God, you're like the cheapest date ever," he threw his head back, laughing.

"Please?" she pleaded and Sam rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in. There was something so persuasive, so magically beautiful about her, that it made him wonder how he could be so incredibly mesmerized by a person. For someone who had built his entire persona around how many girls he could pull in, it was strange that it only took one girl to pull him in.

"Okay, we'll go," he conceded, grinning when Quinn gave him an enthusiastic kiss on the lips. "But if we get caught in some crazy press storm, it's your fault,"

"We'll be fine. This is your home ground, nothing is going to ruin it," Quinn smiled, sending another shock of electricity down Sam's spine. Sliding off of him, she strutted towards her bedroom, leaving the door open, as she changed clothes.

"In that case, you want to head to Fete? It's got great Italian food and the manager is my cousin, so we could at least try to keep a low profile," Sam suggested, his heart quickening suddenly.

He wasn't afraid of going against what Mike asked of him – he had done that tons of times before. But Sam wasn't as seasoned as Quinn was in Hollywood. He was good at projecting an image which was part of why it had been so easy to keep up with the PR relationship. But now that they had come together on their own, now that _Sam + Quinn_ became real, he didn't know if he wanted to risk it by going out in public. Maybe it was selfish to want to keep it to himself, but he also didn't owe the world anything about his personal life.

As he watched Quinn start on her makeup (not that she needed it), he realized that she was a lot more of an expert at this than he was. Sam was an overnight success story; she had taken the time to ease into the Hollywood lifestyle. As a result, Quinn was used to the paparazzi and they didn't bother her one bit, but Sam still clammed up every time someone shoved a camera in his face while he was going to grab lunch. _'Maybe Mike's right. Maybe we have to to keep it under wraps for now,'_ he thought to himself, feeling sheer panic overtake him when he thought of the media frenzy that could follow.

"Ready?" Quinn chirped, slipping her fingers between his. He nodded automatically, letting her guide him out of the hotel and into the waiting car.

There was no need to worry her with his anxiety – they'd have plenty of time for that later.

* * *

Two hours later, Sam and Quinn sat side by side in a private booth at Fete, an upscale, hidden gem of a restaurant. They had snuck in the back and managed to get by unnoticed, but as the night went on, there was a small crowd that was beginning to form just outside the front doors – a crowd that was quickly growing and that made Sam fidget on the edge of his seat.

"What are you staring at?" Quinn prompted, taking a sip of her wine.

Sam groaned, running a hand through his hair. "The paparazzi," he answered. A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, before the realization of what was happening fell on her shoulders. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the steadily growing group of people and she bit her lip in thought.

"So, we'll go through the back,"

"Jack says they're back there, too," Sam answered, recalling his earlier conversation with his cousin.

Quinn turned to face him, examining him closely. With her head cocked to one side, she studied his expression and after a full minute, she said, "You're scared."

"I'm terrified,"

She smiled, reaching over to intertwine her fingers with his. It was comforting, but Sam couldn't ignore his pounding heartbeat. It was real this time, announcing themselves to the world. There was no Santana or Mike or Tina to hide behind, there was no gloss and glimmer, and no calculation to this particular outing at all.

"This wasn't such a great idea," Sam mumbled, letting his fears get the best of him.

"Let's just face it together," Quinn shrugged. "You'll be fine,"

Sam glanced over at her, suddenly struck with the realization that she needed him. She needed him to be strong and for some unknown reason, she needed him to get through the crowd that was waiting for them. "_You'll _be fine," he insisted. "I won't,"

"Sam, we have to leave some time. The longer we wait here, the bigger that crowd is going to get," Quinn pointed out, grabbing her purse and scooting out of the booth. Extending a hand out to him, she said, "Let's go,"

He hesitated, briefly wondering if he could just roll out of a bathroom window and nobody would know. But as he looked at Quinn's face, saw the way her eyes sparkled, he knew he'd have to let them into their world – at least for tonight. Begrudgingly, he took her hand and they walked towards the exit. Sam mumbled thanks to his cousin while Quinn apologized profusely at the inconvenience. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to let Quinn walk down the steps first – but not before his vision was completely blinded by the flash of lights.

He heard his name being called left and right. He saw Quinn stumble slightly in her heels, as she struggled to see past all the cameras and the men who were calling out her name. Doing the best he could, he reached forward for her arm and managed to grasp onto her elbow, guiding them in what he hoped was the right direction. He felt a cameraman push against him, the wide-angle lens of the camera digging into his back.

More flashes, more shouting, more shoving.

Sam was pushed towards the left and he gripped Quinn's elbow tighter, determined not to lose her in the crowd. She looked back at him and even though her eyes squinted to see past all the lights, there was a quiet relaxation about her. Meanwhile, Sam was legitimately losing it. He felt the cameraman slam into his back again and it took all of his willpower not to reach back and pummel him to pieces.

Soon, and he wasn't exactly sure how it happened, he felt a burst of cold air and he felt Quinn pulling him inside the car, another person pushing him inside. He briefly caught a glimpse of their driver from the hotel, trying to fend off what looked like a thousand people dressed in black. Before he could even comprehend what was happening, he felt the car lurch forward and speed off into the night. Time had lapsed, he was sure of it, but there was only the hammering of his heart and the pounding in his head that made sense to him.

"Well. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Quinn asked, her ton still upbeat. Sam turned to face her, eyes wide with shock. "Or…okay, maybe not," she chuckled softly, sensing his expression. "You okay?"

"I'm freaked," he mumbled.

"Sam, you're…what's going on? You're so good at this back in LA," she pointed out.

He contemplated that for a second. It was true, he was used to the media attention in Los Angeles – and maybe that was because it was _Hollywood_, not Nashville, where he had grew up. Maybe it was that, maybe it was the fact that he and Quinn were real, maybe it was a lot of things he couldn't pin down, but he was suddenly struck with the idea that something – everything – was all wrong.

The car slowed to a stop and Quinn groaned, as she saw the mass of people in front of the hotel. Sam saw her suck in a breath, before grabbing his hand and pulling them out of the car. He didn't have time to think, to breathe, to comprehend what was going on, and before he knew it, they were sprinting towards the elevator. The ride up to the hotel room was silent, Sam still shaking from the onslaught of reporters and photographers.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" Quinn demanded, slamming the door shut, the outside world finally left behind.

Tired, Sam sat on the arm of the couch, trying to see through the fog clearly, on his own, for the first time. "I hate paparazzi," he admitted lamely.

"Sam," she whispered his name and he closed his eyes, relishing the way it sounded on her lips.

"You get it, don't you?" he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. "The privacy, I mean. It's different this time,"

"It's different because it's _real_,"

"Exactly. Which is why I can't risk it. I'm not ready,"

Quinn frowned, moving towards him to put her hands on his shoulders. She settled between his legs and tilted his face so that his gaze met hers. "How is this different from all the girls you dated in the spotlight before?"

"Those didn't mean anything," he murmured, kissing her quickly on her bare arm. "You do,"

She smiled softly at that, but the look in her eyes was still sad. "You're not happy," Quinn forced herself to say it, even though it made her heart ache. It was hard enough for her to swallow her pride and ask him to come to Nashville – it was harder for her to let him go now that he was here.

"It's not that I'm not happy with you – I am. You're…god, you're everything right now," Sam's voice was deep and husky, his Southern drawl stronger than ever. He pressed a kiss to Quinn's forehead and she swallowed back the tears, determined not to cry this time.

"But I don't know if I'm ready to let people have a say with us. I don't think I'm ready for the…reality of announcing it to the public," Sam struggled to find the right words, but looking into Quinn's eyes – he knew.

And so did she.

* * *

There was a gentle breeze that caressed their skin, as they stood side by side, facing the plane. The sun was about to rise in a few minutes, the first hints of bright orange peeking out from the horizon in the distance. There was a low rumble in the air, as the plane revved its engine, and Sam felt Quinn's fingers slip between his – one final time. He turned to face her and felt his heart twist at the sight of the tears in her eyes. She sniffed once, then twice, and then lunged at him, clinging to every part that she could. He kissed her hair, trying to commit every single piece of her to his memory, cursing himself because he knew he would fail at it.

"I don't want this," she mumbled against his shirt. Sam nodded, knowing that if he tried to speak, it'd all come out in false promises.

"Me neither," he could give her that, at least.

She took a deep breath, before pulling away from him. Her eyes glistened, but her lips curled into an understanding smile. They stayed like that for a while, staring at each other, memorizing each other, the way each curve fit against their bodies.

"Ms. Fabray? Wheels up in a minute," a disconnected voice came between them and Quinn nodded robotically. She bent down to pick up her handbag, grasping the handle tightly.

"Good luck with…everything," she sighed. "I'll see you, Sam," her eyes traveled over his figure one last time and with a soft kiss pressed to his cheek, Quinn walked towards the waiting plane.

Sam watched her, doing everything he could to remember the way her body felt against his, the way her breath ghosted over his skin, the way her laugh made him forget about everything else that mattered in the world. His heart was breaking, he knew it. It was unfamiliar and uncomforting, but deep down, Sam knew it was what was supposed to happen – all of it meant that they were doing the right thing, regardless of how painful it was.

Neither of them was ready for the media storm that would inevitably come their way. Neither of them wanted to abandon their careers, not when they were finally back on track. And wasn't that what the deal was in the first place? Their entire relationship – PR or otherwise – had been formed to propel them back into star status. And when that had happened, when their breakup still kept them relevant, when tabloids still splashed their faces across their magazines because of filming or touring, it meant the plan had worked. Neither of them had planned on getting their hearts involved, but like so many other things – it had.

As Sam watched the plane roll away, he walked back to his old Nissan Frontier, noting just how quiet the tarmac was without anybody on it. Before starting up his truck, he stole one last look and saw the plane soaring above the rising sky. For a minute, it looked suspended in the air and Sam tried to think of Quinn that way – frozen in time, like a pretty, wrapped up memory that nobody could touch. Some ways down the road, he'd be asked about his relationship with Quinn Fabray. He'd tell them she was special, that she lit up the room where ever she went, and that she was inspiring. Over time, they would forget Quinn and Sam dated and they would move on to other things, career-related things. That was what they hoped for.

Because with his new album about to drop and Quinn's new movie that was already generating Oscar buzz, they couldn't have a high-profile relationship. It was too risky and as Quinn had put it,

"I can take risks with my career, Sam. But I can't – _I won't_ – take risks with our hearts."


End file.
